“If we ’adn’t hordered a whole duff, we’d ’ad money left,” said Abe, “and now wot’s to be done? We ain’t eat a quarter of it.” Lucy thought of the shilling that Bill had recklessly slipped into her hand unknown to Abe. After a moment’s consideration, she said confidentially, “I’ll leave out the price of the duff, for it’s mostly all left, and very few calls for a whole one. Nobody’ll be the wiser if I brings ’em a piece of this.” A load was removed from the minds of the sailors, both of whom thanked the fair Lucy fervently, and if Bill had had any money left she would have gotten it. Their table was in a corner near the entrance, and as they rose to go a commotion in the rear of the room attracted Lucy’s attention. Bill was already at the door and Abe about to follow, when the tempting duff again caught his eye. He wavered a minute. “I’ll be blowed if I leaves it,” he muttered, as he unbuttoned his loose blouse. All hands seemed to be gathering in the back of the large room, and after a stealthy glance to be sure that he was unobserved, Abe seized the remainder of the duff and placed it in his bosom. Then he buttoned up his blouse, drew his loose jacket together as much as possible, and boldly walked out of the door with head well in the air. Bill was a little uneasy at first upon hearing what his companion had done, though he agreed that the duff would be delicious eating a few hours later. Finally he was rather glad of Abe’s action, and only hoped that Lucy would not get into a scrape on account of it. They walked along for some time, until they came to a church. Many people were entering, and the sound of the organ announced that services were about to begin. “Let’s go in, Abe,” said Bill. “We looks decent, I guess, and I ain’t been in a bloomin’ meetin’-house since Mag. Halton’s weddin’, when I was a youngster.” “All right. We’ll cast anchor in this ’ere church for a while. We’ll be safer, too, for I’m kind afeerd of the hofficers of the law nabbing us if we stays on the street.” They passed through the vestibule and into the church; when an usher took them in tow, and the pair were given seats in the extreme forward part of the edifice—in the second row of pews. Everything seemed strange to Abe and Bill in that dim half-light, and their eyes had scarcely become accustomed to the change from out doors when the grand music of the organ again pealed forth, and the services began with a hymn from the surpliced choir. The novelty of the scene wore off after half an hour or so, and the exercises began to seem a trifle tiresome. “There ain’t nothin’ to’t but singin’ and then gettin’ down on your knees, and then jumpin’ up and singin’ again,” whispered Abe. “Awful poor singin’ I calls it, too. I’d like to give ’em a good chorus now—somethin’ like ‘W’isky is the Life of Man’—just to show ’em wot real singin’ is.”