s
interrupted in the middle of an impassioned harangue on free speech and
bundled into the road by the ostler. After this nobody was safe.

To-night Mr. Ketchmaid, meeting his eye as he entered the bar, nodded
curtly. The shoemaker had stayed away three days as a protest, and the
landlord was naturally indignant at such contumacy.

"Good evening, Mr. Ketchmaid," said the shoemaker, screwing up his
little black eyes; "just give me a small bottle o' lemonade, if you
please."

Mr. Clark's cronies laughed, and Mr. Ketchmaid, after glancing at him to
make sure that he was in earnest, served him in silence.

"There's one thing about lemonade," said the shoemaker, as he sipped it
gingerly; "nobody could say you was drunk, not if you drank bucketsful
of it."

There was an awkward silence, broken at last by Mr. Clark smacking his
lips.

"Any news since I've been away, chaps?" he inquired; "or 'ave you just
been sitting round as usual listening to the extra-ordinary adventures
what happened to Mr. Ketchmaid whilst a-foller-ing of the sea?"

"Truth is stranger than fiction, Ned," said Mr. Peter Smith, the tailor,
reprovingly.

The shoemaker assented. "But I never thought so till I heard some o' the
things Mr. Ketchmaid 'as been through," he remarked.

"Well, you know now," said the landlord, shortly.

"And the truthfullest of your yarns are the most wonderful of the lot,
to my mind," said Mr. Clark.

"What do you mean by the truthfullest?" demanded the landlord, gripping
the arms of his chair.

"Why, the strangest," grinned the shoemaker.

"Ah, he's been through a lot, Mr. Ketchmaid has," said the tailor.

"The truthfullest one to my mind," said the shoemaker, regarding the
landlord with spiteful interest, "is that one where Henry Wiggett, the
boatswain's mate, 'ad his leg bit off saving Mr. Ketchmaid from the
shark, and 'is shipmate, Sam Jones, the nigger cook, was wounded saving
'im from the South Sea Highlanders."

"I never get tired o' hearing that yarn," said the affable Mr. Smith.

"I do," said Mr. Clark.

Mr. Ketchmaid looked up from his pipe and eyed him darkly; the shoemaker
smiled serenely.

"Another small bottle o' lemonade, landlord," he said, slowly.

"Go and get your lemonade somewhere else," said the bursting Mr.
Ketchmaid.

"I prefer to 'ave it here," rejoined the shoemaker, "and you've got to
serve me, Ketchmaid. A licensed publican is compelled to serve people
whether he likes to or not