“He daren’t go to the railway station, and he dursen’t go outside in his uniform,” continued Dan. “My ’art bled for the pore young feller, an’ I’ve promised to give ’im a little trip to London with us. The people he’s staying with won’t have him no longer. They’ve only got one bed, and directly he sees any sojers coming he goes an’ gits into it, whether he’s got his boots on or not.” “Have you told the skipper?” inquired Joe sardonically. “I won’t deceive you, Joe, I ’ave not,” replied the old man. “He’ll have to stay down here of a daytime, an’ only come on deck of a night when it’s our watch. I told ’im what a lot of good-’arted chaps you was, and how—” “How much is he going to give you?” inquired Joe impatiently. “It’s only fit and proper he should pay a little for the passage,” said Dan. “How _much?_” demanded Joe, banging the little triangular table with his fist, and thereby causing the man with the antimacassar to drop a couple of stitches. “Twenty-five shillings,” said old Dan reluctantly; “an’ I’ll spend the odd five shillings on you chaps when we git to Limehouse.” “I don’t want your money,” said Joe; “there’s a empty bunk he can have; and mind, you take all the responsibility—I won’t have nothing to do with it.” “Thanks, Joe,” said the old man, with a sigh of relief; “he’s a nice young chap, you’re sure to take to him. I’ll go and give him the tip to come aboard at once.” He ran up on deck again and whistled softly, and a figure, which had been hiding behind a pile of empties, came out, and, after looking cautiously around, dropped noiselessly on to the schooner’s deck, and followed its protector below. “Good evening, mates,” said the linesman, gazing curiously and anxiously round him as he deposited a bundle on the table, and laid his swagger cane beside it. “What’s your height?” inquired Joe abruptly. “Seven foot?” “No, only six foot four,” said the new arrival, modestly. “I’m not proud of it. It’s much easier for a small man to slip off than a big one.” “It licks me,” said Joe thoughtfully, “what they want ’em back for—I should think they’d be glad to git rid o’ such”—he paused a moment while politeness struggled with feeling, and added, “skunks.” “P’raps I’ve a reason for being a skunk, p’raps I haven’t,” retorted Private Smith, as his face fell. “This’ll be your bunk,” interposed Dan hastily; “put your things in there, and when you are in yourself you’ll be as comfortable as a oyster in its shell.” The visitor complied, and, first extracting from the bundle some tins of meat and a bottle of whiskey, which he placed upon the table, nervously requested the honour of the present company to supper. With the exception of Joe, who churlishly climbed back into his bunk, the men complied, all agreeing that boys of Billy’s age should be reared on strong teetotal principles.