“He got up, and moved towards the door. Ted Reddish didn’t move a muscle, but Mrs. Reddish flopped on her knees and caught old Sam round the legs, and ’eld him so’s ’e couldn’t move. “‘Spare ’im,’ she ses, crying. “‘Lea’ go o’ my legs, mum,’ ses Sam. “‘Come on, Sam,’ ses Ginger; ‘come to the police.’ “Old Sam made a desperit effort, and Mrs. Reddish called ’im a crool monster, and let go and ’id ’er face on ’er husband’s shoulder as they all moved out of the parlour, larfing like a mad thing with hysterics. “They moved off slowly, not knowing wot to do, as, of course, they knew they daren’t go to the police about it. Ginger Dick’s temper was awful; but Peter Russet said they mustn’t give up all ’ope—he’d write to Ted Reddish and tell ’im as a friend wot a danger ’e was in. Old Sam didn’t say anything, the loss of his nevy and twenty-five pounds at the same time being almost more than ’is ’art could bear, and in a slow, melancholy fashion they walked back to old Sam’s lodgings. “‘Well, what the blazes is up now?’ ses Ginger Dick, as they turned the corner. “There was three or four ’undered people standing in front of the ’ouse, and women’s ’eads out of all the winders screaming their ’ardest for the police, and as they got closer they ’eard a incessant knocking. It took ’em nearly five minutes to force their way through the crowd, and then they nearly went crazy as they saw the wild man with ’alf the winder-blind missing, but otherwise well and ’arty, standing on the step and giving rat-a-tat-tats at the door for all ’e was worth. “They never got to know the rights of it, Beauty getting so excited every time they asked ’im ’ow he got on that they ’ad to give it up. But they began to ’ave a sort of idea at last that Ted Reddish ’ad been ’aving a game with ’em, and that Mrs. Reddish was worse than wot ’e was.” A QUESTION OF HABIT “Wimmin aboard ship I don’t ’old with,” said the night-watchman, severely. “They’ll arsk you all sorts o’ silly questions, an’ complain to the skipper if you don’t treat ’em civil in answering ’em. If you do treat ’em civil, what’s the result? Is it a bit o’ bacca, or a shilling, or anything like that? Not a bit of it; just a ‘thank you,’ an’ said in a way as though they’ve been giving you a perfect treat by talking to you. “They’re a contrary sects too. Ask a girl civil-like to stand off a line you want to coil up, and she’ll get off an’ look at you as though you ought to have waited until she ’ad offered to shift. Pull on it without asking her to step off fust, an’ the ship won’t ’old her ’ardly. A man I knew once—he’s dead now, poor chap, and left three widders mourning their unrepairable loss—said that with all ’is experience wimmin was as much a riddle to ’im as when he fust married. “O’ course, sometimes you get a gal down the fo’c’s’le pretending to be a man, shipping as ordinary seaman or boy, and nobody not a penny the wiser. It’s happened before, an’ I’ve no doubt it will again.