better than to try it."

"Do I?" retorted the oldster, forgetting himself in the heat of the
moment.

"Yes, you do," replied Bruce, jumping up in defiance; and there was
every appearance of a disturbance, much to the delight of Jerry, who,
provided that they fought, was quite indifferent which party was the
victor. But a fortunate interruption took place, by the appearance of
the master-at-arms.

"Nine o'clock, gentlemen, if you please--the lights must be put out."

"Very well, master-at-arms," replied one of the oldsters.

The master-at-arms took his seat on a chest close to the door of the
berth, aware that a second summons, if not a third, would be requisite,
before his object was obtained. In a few minutes he again put his head
into the berth. "Nine o'clock, gentlemen, if you please. I must report
you to the first-lieutenant."

"Very well, Byfield--it shall be out in a minute."

The master-at-arms resumes his station on the chest outside.

"Why, it's Saturday night," cried Bruce. "Sweethearts and wives, my
boys, though I believe none of us are troubled with the latter.
Forster, pass the rum."

"I'll pass the bottle, and you may make a bull of it, if you choose."

"Confound it, no more grog--and Saturday night. I must drink `Auld lang
syne,' by Heavens."

The master-at-arms again made his appearance. "Gentlemen, you must put
the light out."

"Stop one minute, Byfield. Let us see whether we can get any more rum."

The excuse appeared reasonable to the jack in office, and he
disappeared.

"Boy, tell Billy Pitt I want him."

Billy Pitt had turned in, but was soon roused out of his hammock, and
made his appearance at the berth door, with only his shirt on that he
was sleeping in.

"You want me, Massa Bruce?"

"Billy, my beau, you know everything. We sent for you to tell us what's
the meaning of a repartee?"

"Repartee, sir--repartee!--stop a bit--Eh--I tell you, sir. Suppose you
call me dam nigger--then I call you one dam dirty white-livered son of a
b---; dat a repartee, sir."

"Capital, Billy--you shall be a bishop. But Billy, has your master got
any rum in his cabin?"

"Which massa, sir? Massa Courtenay, or Massa Doctor?"

"Oh! Courtenay, to be sure. The surgeon never has any."

"Yes, sar, I tink he have a little."

"Be quick, Billy; and fetch it. I will give it you back at the tub
to-morrow."

"Suppose you forget, sar, you put me in very fine _predicalament_.
Massa Cour