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"Won't that do?" I asked him.

"Good God, that's been there for a week. I've sat on the doorsteps of the Adelphi for hours only to get turned down for my pains."

"Well," said I, "I haven't got a ship. I don't see any chance of getting one. I won't go before the mast. I can't starve, and I haven't any money except these few sovereigns. I'm the lightest comedian I know just now and I'm going to have a shot at Charles Barrington, Esquire."

My brother laughed at me. "What sort of a chance have you got?" he cried.

"There are lots of damned fools who know no more than I do and get billets every day in other businesses. I'll have a try, anyway."

"If you give your name as 'Bellew' he'll tarn you down at once. He will think it is I and refuse to see you."

"That's easily fixed. I'll send in my Christian name, 'Harold Kyrle.' That sounds like a theatrical name, anyway."

After considering the matter further it was agreed that I should go to the Adelphia the next morning and try my luck. I had no clothes except what I had been wearing at sea. My best coat, a blue serge, bore the gilt anchor-buttons the company insisted that its officers should wear. We went out, and finding a little tailor's shop where "Repairs Neatly Executed" was posted in the window, we went in, and the little tailor soon clipped off my buttons and in their place sewed a set of neat plain black ones. Barring my cap, which