“He got in three or four at Bill afore you could wink a’most, and when Bill ’it back ’e wasn’t there. That seemed to annoy Bill more than anything, and he suddenly flung out ’is arms, and grabbing ’old of ’im flung ’im right across the fo’c’s’le to where, fortunately for ’im—Dodgy, I mean—Tom Baker was sitting. “Charlie called ‘Time’ again, and we let ’em ’ave five minutes while we ’elped Tom to bed, and then wot ’e called the ‘disgusting exhibishun’ was resoomed. Bill ’ad dipped ’is face in a bucket and ’ad rubbed ’is great arms all over and was as fresh as a daisy. Dodgy looked a bit tottery, but ’e was game all through and very careful, and, try as Bill might, he didn’t seem to be able to get ’old of ’im agin. “In five minutes more, though, it was all over, Dodgy not being able to see plain—except to get out o’ Bill’s way—and hitting wild. He seemed to think the whole fo’c’s’le was full o’ Bills sitting on a locker and waiting to be punched, and the end of it was a knock-out blow from the real Bill which left ’im on the floor without a soul offering to pick ’im up. “Bill ’elped ’im up at last and shook hands with ’im, and they rinsed their faces in the same bucket, and began to praise each other up. They sat there purring like a couple o’ cats, until at last we ’eard a smothered voice coming from Joe Simms’s bunk. “‘Is it all over?’ he asks. “‘Yes,’ ses somebody. “‘How is Bill?’ ses Joe’s voice again. “‘Look for yourself,’ ses Tom. “Joe sat up in ’is bunk then and looked out, and he no sooner saw Bill’s face than he gave a loud cry and fell back agin, and, as true as I’m sitting here, fainted clean away. We was struck all of a ’eap, and then Bill picked up the bucket and threw some water over ’im, and by and by he comes round agin and in a dazed sort o’ way puts his arm round Bill’s neck and begins to cry. “‘_Mighty Moses_!’ ses Dodgy Pete, jumping up, ‘it’s a woman!’ “‘_It’s my wife!_’ ses Bill. “We understood it all then, leastways the married ones among us did. She’d shipped aboard partly to be with Bill and partly to keep an eye on ’im, and Tom Baker’s mistake about a prizefighter had just suited her book better than anything. How Bill was to get ’er home ’e couldn’t think, but it ’appened the second officer had been peeping down the fo’c’s’le, waiting for ever so long for a suitable opportunity to stop the fight, and the old man was so tickled about the way we’d all been done ’e gave ’er a passage back as stewardess to look arter the ship’s cat.” THE RESURRECTION OF MR. WIGGETT Mr. Sol Ketchmaid, landlord of the Ship, sat in his snug bar, rising occasionally from his seat by the taps to minister to the wants of the customers who shared this pleasant retreat with him. Forty years at sea before the mast had made Mr. Ketchmaid an authority on affairs maritime; five years in command of the Ship Inn, with the nearest other licensed house five miles off, had made him an autocrat.