build, she rights again, an' you,
'avin' on cork jackets, p'r'aps, gits into 'er by the lifelines, all
handy. If you 'aven't got no cork jackets on, w'y, them that has'll
pick 'ee up. If not, it's like enough you'll go down. But no matter,
you've did yer best, an' man, woman, or child can do no more. You can
only die once, d'ye see?"

Whether the admiring audience did or did not see the full force of these
remarks, they undoubtedly saw enough in the gigantic tar to esteem him a
marvel of philosophic wisdom. Judging by their looks that he was highly
appreciated, it is just possible that Dick Moy might have been tempted
to extend his discourse, had not a move in the crowd showed a general
tendency towards dispersion, the rescued people having been removed,
some to the Sailor's Home, others to the residences of hospitable people
in the town.

Now, it must not be imagined that all these characters in our tale have
been thus brought together, merely at our pleasure, without rhyme or
reason, and in utter disregard of the law of probabilities. By no
means.

Mr Robert Queeker had started for Ramsgate, as the reader knows, on a
secret mission, which, as is also well known, was somewhat violently
interrupted by the sporting tendencies of that poetical law-clerk; but
no sooner did Queeker recover from his wounds than--with the
irresistible ardour of a Wellington, or a Blucher, or a bull-dog, or a
boarding-school belle--he returned to the charge, made out his intended
visit, set his traps, baited his lines, fastened his snares, and
whatever else appertained to his secret mission, so entirely to the
satisfaction of Messrs. Merryheart and Dashope, that these estimable men
resolved, some time afterwards, to send him back again to the scene of
his labours, to push still further the dark workings of his mission.
Elate with success the earnest Queeker prepared to go. Oh, what joy if
_she_ would only go with him!

"And why not?" cried Queeker, starting up when this thought struck him,
as if it had struck him too hard and he were about to retaliate,--"Why
not? _That_ is the question."

He emphasised _that_ as if all other questions, Hamlet's included, sank
into insignificance by contrast.

"Only last night," continued Queeker to himself, still standing bolt
upright in a frenzy of inspiration, and running his fingers fiercely
through his hair, so as to make it stand bolt upright too--"only last
night I heard old Durant say