smooth--you _'eard_ him? What sort
o' spar--"

"Dunno"--Bill paused and audibly shifted his quid--"unless 'twas a
parsnip. The mizz'n-m'st seems to have stood it, though her stays
_do_ lead to a brass-headed nail in the scuppers."

"In a gale off Pernambuco . . . 'twas his duty, and as a seaman he
did it," quoted Mr. Jope in a low voice thrilled with awe. "Bill, we
must 'ave him. If he did but 'alf of it, we must 'ave him. In them
togs, aboard the _Vesuvius_ now . . . Lord love me, he's dancin'!"

"Ay, and he's going to sing."

"_Sing!_"

"Mark my word, he's going to sing," repeated Bill Adams with
confidence; and, sure enough, Mr. Sturge stepped forward and with a
reproachful glance at the empty Royal box uplifted his voice:

"When honest Jack across the foam
Puts forth to meet the Gallic foe,
His tributary tear for home
He wipes away with a Yow-heave-ho!
Man the braces,
Take your places,
Fill the tot and push the can;
He's a lubber
That would blubber
When Britannia needs a _Man_!"

"S'help us, Bill, what are they doing _now_?" gasped Ben Jope, as two
groups of seamen, one at either wing, took up the chorus; tailing on
to a cable and heaving while they sang.

"Fishin' the anchor," said Bill pensively; "_that's_ what they're
doin'. She carries her catheads amidships. The ship's all right,
once you get the hang of her."

"Bill, we _must_ 'ave him!"

"Hush it, you swab! He's beginning again."

"But when among the heaving clouds,
Aloft, alone, with folded arms,
He hangs _her_ portrait in the shrouds
And feeds on Susan's glowing charms,
To th' horizon
Soft his sighs on
Angel wings the zephyrs fan,
While his feelings,
Deep revealings,
Prove that Jack remains a _Man_!"

"'Ear that, Bill?"

"O' course I 'ears it. Why not? I _knew_ there was something funny
wi' them shrouds. They carries the family portraits on 'em--it's all
right, I tell you."

"But 'feeds,' he said."

"Meanin' the picter; though maybe they sling the meat-safe there as
well. They _ought_ to."

"They _couldn't_!"

"Why not? Well, then, p'raps they strikes it now and then _in_ a
gale--off Pernambuco--along wi' the t'gallant yards. Stow yer talk,
Ben Jope, and let a man listen."

The audience encored Mr. Sturge's song vociferously; and twice he had
to repeat it befo