The boatswain waved his arms and gurgled. “I’m choking!” he moaned, and dashed blindly into the inn, followed by the alarmed boy. “Pot—six ale!” he gasped, banging on the little counter. The landlord eyed him in speechless amazement. “Six ale!” repeated the boatswain. “Pot! Quick! G-r-r.” “You be off,” said the landlord, putting down a glass he was wiping, and eying him wrathfully. “How dare you come into my place like that? What do you mean by it?” “He has swallowed a pebble!” said Bassett, hastily. “If he’d swallowed a brick I shouldn’t be surprised,” said the landlord, “seeing the state he’s in. I don’t want drunken sailors in my place; and, what’s more, I won’t have ’em.” “Drunk?” said the unfortunate boatswain, raising his voice. “Me? Why, I ain’t—” “Out you go!” said the landlord, in a peremptory voice, “and be quick about it; I don’t want people to say you got it here.” “Got it?” wailed Mr. Walters. “_Got it_? I tell you I ain’t had it. I swallowed a stone.” “If you don’t go out,” said the landlord, as Mr. Walters, in token of good faith, stood making weird noises in his throat and rolling his eyes, “I’ll have you put out. How dare you make them noises in my bar! Will—you—go?” Mr. Walters looked at him, looked at the polished nickel taps, and the neat row of mugs on the shelves. Then, without a word, he turned and walked out. “Has it gone down?” inquired Bassett presently, as they walked along. “Wot?” said the boatswain, thoughtlessly. “The pebble.” “I s’pose so,” said the other, sourly. “I should think it would be all right, then,” said the boy; “foreign bodies, even of considerable size, are often swallowed with impunity. How is your thirst now?” The boatswain stopped dead in the middle of the road and stood eying him suspiciously, but the mild eyes behind the glasses only betrayed friendly solicitude. He grunted and walked on. By the time the Fox and Hounds came in sight again he had resolved not to lose a reputation which had entailed so much suffering. He clapped the boy on the back, and after referring to a clasp-knive which he remembered to have left on the grass opposite the Pedlar’s Rest, announced his intention of going back for it. He did go back as far as a bend in the road, and, after watching Bassett out of sight, hastened with expectant steps into the inn. He rested there for an hour, and, much refreshed, walked slowly into Salthaven. It was past seven o’clock, and somewhat at a loss how to spend the evening he was bending his steps toward the Lobster Pot, a small inn by the quay, when in turning a corner he came into violent collision with a fashionably attired lady. “I beg pardon, ma’am,” he stammered. “I’m very sorry. I didn’t see where I was—Why! Halloa, yaller wig!” Miss Jelks drew back and, rubbing, her arm, eyed him haughtily. “Fancy you in a ’at like that,” pursued the astonished boatswain. “No wonder I thought you was a lady. Well, and ’ow are you?”