"What, the Tallyman?" screamed Dopsy. "No, I would rather be dressed like a South Sea Islander. It's not only the utter lowness of the thing; but the man's goods are never like anybody else's. The colours and materials seem invented on purpose for him." "That might pass for high art." "Well, they're ugly enough even for that; but it's not the right kind of ugliness." "After all," answered Mopsy, "we have no more chance of paying weekly than we have of paying monthly or quarterly. Nothing under three years' credit would be any use to _us_. Something might happen--Fortune's wheel might turn in three years." "Whenever it does turn it will be the wrong way, and we shall be under it," said Dopsy, still given over to gloom. It was very delightful to be invited to a fine old country house; but it was bitter to know that one must go there but half provided with those things which civilization have made a necessity. "How happy those South Sea Islanders must be," sighed Mopsy, pensively meditating upon the difference between wearing nothing, and having nothing to wear. CHAPTER VI. "I WILL HAVE NO MERCY ON HIM." The Buenos Ayres steamer was within sight of land--English land. Those shining lights yonder were the twin lanterns of the Lizard. Leonard and his friend paced the bridge smoking their cigars, and looking towards that double star which shone out as one light in the distance; and thinking that they were going back to civilization--conventional habits--a world which must seem cramped and narrow--not much better than the squirrel's cage seems to the squirrel--after the vast width and margin of that wilder, freer world they had just left--where men and women were not much more civilized than the unbroken horses that were brought out struggling, and roped in among a team of older stagers, to be dragged along anyhow for the first mile or so, rebellious, and wondering, and to fall in with the necessities of the case somehow before the stage was done.