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 “Hold on a bit! there’s two sides to every plate, chum,” objected Tim, who was also a married man. “Look at all the worries you get, an’ the responsibilities, an’ the bills, an the kiddies gettin’ sick—I got one sick now—an’”

“An’ w’en yer gits ’ome, the pair o’ sleeves wiv two harms in ’em roun’ yer neck. An’ that’s worf it hall!” finished Mr. Black, with feeling.

Upon my spinster liberty he was wont to comment with a bitter disapproval. He only scowled when I suggested with a sigh, that the otherwise blameless existence of Mrs. Black had now blasted my prospects for ever; and used scathingly to refer to me as “the man-hater”—most unfairly, for I liked Mr. Black.

Mr. Scott, the old engineer, was hale and hearty, rosy and smiling, but somewhat taciturn and very deaf. Intercourse with him was difficult in any case, for at meals his plate received his undivided attention, and the remainder of his waking hours appeared to be spent in silent communion with his sphinx of an engine, which he never left, whether she were working or not. She had, as previously hinted, not the sweetest breath in the world; so that there was point in Mr. Anstruther’s suggestion that her adorer must have an affection of the nose as well as of the heart.

Mr. Anstruther was the purser, and a good foil in many ways to old Mr. Scott; for he was a sprightly and active young man, the impersonation of light-heartedness and good-humour, always ready for anything, work or play, and a great hand at making and appreciating practical jokes, against himself if occasion demanded—he was not particular. The