The man in the red coat looked down at the brown faces along the boat that were turned to him with a species of watchful, dog-like alertness. “I shall have my flag flying in a month,” he said; “men sha’n’t rot down at Deptford—the devil knows that. We have our tallies to count in the South, eh, and Jasper shall have a long caronado to squint along. Good-luck to you, lads. Here’s the end of the stocking. I wish it were deeper.” He tossed a purse to a grizzled old giant who was leaning upon his oar. The man picked it up, looked at it lovingly a moment, and then glanced over his shoulder at the men behind him. “No dirty dog’s tricks here,” growled one. “There’s a gold piece or two for ye,” said another, slapping his belt. The giant stretched out a great fist with the purse in it. “Maybe you’ll be selling the little frigate, capt’n; we can knock along—” The man in the red coat looked him straight in the eyes. “Damnation, Jasper, I owe you all your pay—yet. Pocket it for beer money.” “Drink your last guinea, capt’n, not me!” “Why, man, I can get a bagful for the asking—in an hour. And, look you all, stand by down at ‘The Eight Bells’ to-morrow. I’ll pay every man of you before noon.” The watermen above had been listening to this dialogue with ribald cynicism. “Holy Moses,” said one, “here’s a boat-load of saints!” “Throw it up here, mate, we ain’t shy of the dross.” The captain had climbed the steps, with the boy beside him. But old Jasper, standing up in the boat with his oar held like a pike, turned his sea-eagle’s face toward the gentry on the causeway. “Squeak, ye land-rats. By God’s death, you’ve never seen the inside of a Barbary prison. If you were men you’d take your hat off to the capt’n. But being land-gaffers, you’re all mud-muck and tallow. Shove her off, mates, or I’ll be smashing some chicken’s stilts with my oar.” The loungers jeered him valiantly as the bow sweeps churned foam, and the boat, gathering weigh, swung out into the river. “Look at their great mouths,” said the sea-wolf, grimly; “when we want our bilge emptying we’ll send for ’em to have a drink.” Meanwhile the man in the red coat and the boy had passed up the passage from the river in the direction of Charing Cross, the shabbiness of their raiment flattering the curiosity of the passers-by. The man in the red coat appeared wholly at his ease. As for the boy, he was ready to spread his fingers at the whole town on the very first provocation. Even the fact that he had a rent in his breeches that suffered a certain portion of his underlinen to protrude did not humble his self-satisfaction. The sea-captain, who had been walking with his chin in the air, glanced down suddenly at the boy beside him. “How are the ‘stores,’ Sparkin, my lad?” “Getting low in the hold, sir.” “We will put in and replenish.” The boy gave a greedy twinkle. “Hallo! I thought I told Jasper to patch you up with a piece of sail-cloth?”