"Eh--what, who the deuce are you?" he ejaculated in short, jerky accents after a pause, evidently puzzled for the nonce, and, in his agitation, another fistful of snuff got arrested half-way between his waistcoat pocket and expectant nose, the consequence of which was that more than half was spilt on the front of his shirt, and already snuff-stained coat collar. "Eh, what? I think I know your face, but I'm hanged if I can recollect your name, sir!" Dad smiled, and, whether this supplied a missing link to memory's aid or no, the next instant a gleam of intelligence flashed across the veteran's weatherbeaten face making him look so animated that he seemed a different person. Shoving out his horny fist, forgetful of the balance of snuff contained therein, and thus causing me to sneeze again, as well as nearly blinding me for a second time, the rough old sailor caught hold of my father's disengaged hand with a grip of iron, shouting a welcome in his hearty, loud voice which could have been heard across Pall Mall; for it was as breezy as the sea, echoing in ringing accents whose cordial tones I can almost fancy I now hear, like the surf of breakers breaking in the distance on some rock-bound shore. "Bless my soul, Vernon! Is that you, my lad, hey?" he roared out, making a dandified exquisite, who was just then lounging past us, jump into the gutter and soil his polished patent leathers in nervous alarm. "Glad to see me, you said? Stuff and nonsense, you rascal--you're not half so pleased as I am to clap my eyes on you again! Gad, you young scamp, why, it seems only the other day when I sent you to the mast-head, you remember, when you were a middy with me in the _Neptune_? It was for cutting off the tail of my dog Ponto, and you said--though that was all moonshine, of course--you did it to cure him of fits! By George! what a terrible young scapegrace you were, to be sure, Vernon, always in mischief from sunrise to gunfire, and always at loggerheads with my first lieutenant and the master, poor old Cosine!" CHAPTER TWO. THE ADMIRAL SPEAKS HIS MIND. I had been fidgeting all the time the old gentleman was speaking squeezing Dad's hand in order to attract his attention and make him tell me who his old friend was; but, for the moment, he was too much taken up with the veteran's hearty greeting to give ear to me. At last, however, in response to another squeeze of my hand, he bent down towards me, expecting, no doubt, some such inquiry. "Who is it, Dad?" I whispered, dying with curiosity. "Who is it?" "Admiral Sir Charles Napier, Jack," he replied, under his breath, "late commander-in-chief of the Baltic Fleet." I doffed my cap at once, for I had often heard my father mention the name of the gallant old sailor before, though I hardly expected to see him in such a guise. "Hullo, who've we got here?" cried the Admiral, noticing my action and patting my head in recognition of the salute with his snuffy palm. "Your son, Vernon, eh?"