After a few words about their dinner, and how they got on, and so forth, the principal came to the point by saying: “Now both of you must start to-morrow morning; such clever fellows can not be spared to go to sleep. You shall come and see York again, with free billet, and lashings of money in your pockets, as soon as you have carried out your sailing orders. To-night you may jollify; but after that you are under strict discipline, for a month at least. What do you say to that, my men?” Watchman Joe looked rather glum; he had hoped for a fortnight of stumping about, with a tail of admiring boys after him, and of hailing every public-house the cut of whose jib was inviting; however, he put his knife into his mouth, with a bit of fat, saved for a soft adieu to dinner, and nodded for his son to launch true wisdom into the vasty deep of words. Now Bob, the son of Joe, had striven to keep himself up to the paternal mark. He cited his father as the miracle of the age, when he was a long way off; and when he was nigh at hand, he showed his sense of duty, nearly always, by letting him get tipsy first. Still, they were very sober fellows in the main, and most respectable, when they had no money. “Sir,” began Bob, after jerking up his chin, as a sailor always does when he begins to think (perhaps for hereditary counsel with the sky), “my father and I have been hauling of it over, to do whatever is laid down by duty, without going any way again' ourselves. And this is the sense we be come to, that we should like to have something handsome down, to lay by again' chances; also a dokkyment in black and white, to bear us harmless of the law, and enter the prize-money.” “What a fine councillor a' would have made!” old Joe exclaimed, with ecstasy. “He hath been round the world three times--excuseth of him for only one leg left.” “My friend, how you condemn yourself! You have not been round the world at all, and yet you have no leg at all.” So spake Mr. Mordacks, wishing to confuse ideas; for the speech of Bob misliked him. “The corners of the body is the Lord's good-will,” old Joe answered, with his feelings hurt; “He calleth home a piece to let the rest bide on, and giveth longer time to it--so saith King David.” “It may be so; but I forget the passage. Now what has your son Bob to say?” Bob was a sailor of the fine old British type, still to be found even nowadays, and fit to survive forever. Broad and resolute of aspect, set with prejudice as stiff as his own pigtail, truthful when let alone, yet joyful in a lie, if anybody doubted him, peaceable in little things through plenty of fight in great ones, gentle with women and children, and generous with mankind in general, expecting to be cheated, yet not duly resigned at being so, and subject to unaccountable extremes of laziness and diligence. His simple mind was now confused by the general factor's appeal to him to pronounce his opinion, when he had just now pronounced it, after great exertion.