Never tell me again that Friday is an unlucky day. I tell you friend Walt, that Friday is your lucky day. It is on Friday that your star is on the meridian. How so? asked Walter. It was on Friday we sailed. On Friday we cast anchor on our native shore. On Friday you saved the life of Lord Wallace, and my word for it, it is a lucky day for you. The old man has taken a liking to you, and he will do something handsome for you. He is rich as a jew, without a wife, child or chicken. Have you ever seen him before? Yes, many a time. I remember when he drove his son from home because he married Amelia Powers. And when I return from a cruise he asks me what I have seen or heard in America. I believe he never heard from his son. Did you hear the son’s name? Oh, yes. His name was William. He and his cousin, Thomas Powers had a quarrel about a cock fight. The old folks interfered and made fools of themselves, and in the end disinherited their children for following the dictates of their own consciences and the man and maid of their choice. How long Frost would have continued the history it is hard to tell. But at this point a servant announced that Lord Wallace desired their company in the dining room. The trio followed the servant to the dining room where they found Lord Wallace waiting. Sit down, gentlemen. A little brandy will do you good. It will drive away coughs, colds and rheumatism which will follow the cold bath we took this morning. Brandy. Pure brandy. Here, Stupid, (addressing the servant,) fill up these glasses with the pure cognac. Now my men, lay to and help yourselves. Don’t feel timid because you are in the house of a Lord. Eat, drink and be merry, for this, my son, was dead, but now is alive. He was lost, but now is found. Hic—hic—Come, Stupid, fill up the glasses—hic—hic. It was evident that his Lordship had freely imbibed of his beverage, brandy, before he sent for his friends, and it was with difficulty that he could maintain an erect position in his chair. He commenced again:— Come, hearties—heave to and get yourselves on the outside of that bottle of brandy. Hic—hic—It’s the pure juice—hic. Here’s to Cap-Cap-Captain Davis and the Reindeer. Why in the devil don’t you drink? My Lord, you must excuse us, said Walter. We don’t drink. We have pledged ourselves not to touch, taste or handle strong drink. We think the soul more merry and the body more active without it. Who the devil are you? what the devil are you? where did you come from? Hic—hic. This is a day of surprises. The arrival of the Reindeer was a surprise—my baptism was a surprise—but the climax of all surprises is to find three man-of-war’s men—three Englishmen that refuse brandy. Impossible! Increditable! Unnatural. Come boys, lay to, take a swig with the old man, and suiting the action to the word, downed another glass of brandy. I say, Stupid, why don’t you make these old tars d-r-i-n-k. Yes-d-r-i-n-k-hic-hic.