espect for his mother
which the youth manifested, though he was anxious to hear the
conclusion of his story.

"I don't care what she did it for; it was a scurvy trick. I told her
I wouldn't stay in the ship, any how, and she permitted the big
boatswain to hold me while she went ashore in a boat. But I knew
myself, if my mother didn't know me, and I determined not to stay in
her three days; and I didn't," chuckled Clyde, as he thought of what
he called his own cleverness.

"What did you do?" asked Paul, deeply interested.

"I was willing to bide my time, and so I hauled sheets, and luffed,
and tacked, and all that sort of thing, till we got to Christiania.
When I was pulling the main boom, or something of that kind,--I don't
just know what it was now,--one of the fellows in gold bands insulted
me."

"What did he say to you?"

"He ordered me to be silent, and another nob did the same thing. I
offered to fight them both, and I would have liked to show them what
an English boy's fist is made of; but the cowards set the boatswain on
me again. I would have licked him if he had fought fair; but he caught
me foul, and I could do nothing. I meant to be even with that big
boatswain, and I think I am," said Clyde, rubbing his hands again with
delight, and laughing heartily when he thought of his brilliant
achievement.

"Well, what did you do?"

"I just waited till the ship got to Christiania; and then, when all
the students were at dinner, I found the big boatswain sitting on a
beam that runs out over the water--I forget what they call the beam,
but it's at the bow of the ship."

"The bowsprit," suggested Paul.

"No; I know the bowsprit. It wasn't that. There was another beam like
it on the other side."

"O, the cat-head!"

"That's just it. Well, I went up to the big boatswain, and asked him
to look at a ship,--or a 'mofferdite brig, he called it. He looked,
and I just gave him a push, which dropped him off the cat's head into
the bay," continued Clyde, who told his story with many a chuckle and
many a laugh, seeming to enjoy it hugely himself, in spite of the want
of sympathy on the part of his listener.

"You pushed him overboard!" exclaimed Paul.

"That I did, and did it handsomely, too. He never knew what hurt him
till he struck the water. He swam for the bow, and I dropped into a
boat, and came ashore. I saw him climb up to the deck, but I was out
of his way then. Wasn't that cleverly done?"

"Rather," re