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 CHAPTER XXII

THREE STRANDS OF A YARN

As in a council of war, the youngest spoke first. "Mates!" said he, "here be three of us, all run for the same port, and never a one sported bunting. I ain't a chap, I ain't, as must be brought to afore he'll show his number. When I drinks with a man I likes to fit his name on him ship-*shape, so here's my sarvice to you messmates both! They calls me Slap-Jack. That's about what they calls me both ashore and afloat."

It was absolutely necessary after such an exordium that more liquor should be brought in, and a generous contention immediately arose between the three occupants of the tap-*room as to who should pay for it; at once producing increased familiarity, besides a display of liberality on the part of the eldest and first comer, who was indeed the only one possessing ready money. Butter-faced Bob being summoned, the jugs were replenished and Slap-Jack continued his remarks.

"I've been cruising about ashore," said he, between the whiffs of his pipe, "and very bad weather I made on it standing out over them Downs, as they calls 'em, in these here latitudes. Downs, says I, the Downs is mostly smooth water and safe anchorage; but these here Ups and Downs is a long leg and a short one, a head wind and an ebb tide all the voyage through. I made my port, though, d'ye mind me, my sons, at last, and—and—well, we've all had our sweethearts in our day, so we'll drink her health by your leave. Here's to Alice, mates! and next round it shall be your call, and thank ye hearty."