“My health is very well, I thank you,” returned Miss Jelks, stiffly. “That’s right,” said the boatswain, heartily. Conversation came suddenly to a standstill, and they stood eying each other awkwardly. “It’s a fine evening,” said Mr. Walters, at last. “Beautiful,” said Rosa. They eyed each other again, thoughtfully. “You hurt my arm just now,” said Rosa, rubbing it coquettishly. “You’re very strong, aren’t you?” “Middling,” said the boatswain. “Very strong, I should say,” said Rosa. “You’ve got such a broad chest and shoulders.” The boatswain inflated himself. “And arms,” continued Miss Jelks, admiringly. “Arms like—like—” “Blocks o’ wood,” suggested the modest Mr. Walters, squinting at them complacently. “Or iron,” said Rosa. “Well, good-by; it’s my evening out, and I mustn’t waste it.” “Where are you going?” inquired the boatswain. Miss Jelks shook her head. “I don’t know,” she said, softly. “You can come with me if you like,” said Mr. Walters, weighing his words carefully. “A little way. I ain’t got nothing better to do.” Miss Jelks’s eyes flashed, then with a demure smile she turned and walked by his side. They walked slowly up the street, and Mr. Walters’s brows grew black as a series of troublesome coughs broke out behind. A glance over his shoulder showed him three tavern acquaintances roguishly shaking their heads at him. “Arf a second,” he said, stopping. “I’ll give ’em something to cough about.” Rosa clutched his arm. “Not now; not while you are with me,” she said, primly. “Just one smack,” urged the boatswain. He looked round again and clenched his fists, as his friends, with their arms fondly encircling each other’s waists, walked mincingly across the road. He shook off the girl’s arm and stepped off the pavement as with little squeals, fondly believed to be feminine, they sought sanctuary in the Red Lion. “They’re not worth taking notice of,” said Rosa. She put a detaining hand through his arm again and gave it a little gentle squeeze. A huge feather almost rested on his shoulder, and the scent of eau-de-Cologne assailed his nostrils. He walked on in silent amazement at finding himself in such a position. “It’s nice to be out,” said Rosa, ignoring a feeble attempt on his part to release his arm. “You’ve no idea how fresh the air smells after you’ve been shut up all day.” “You’ve got a comfortable berth, though, haven’t you?” said Mr. Walters. “Fairish,” said Rosa. “There’s plenty of work; but I like work—housework.” The boatswain said “Oh!” “Some girls can’t bear it,” said Rosa, “but then, as I often say, what are they going to do when they get married?” “Ah!” said the boatswain, with an alarmed grunt, and made another attempt to release his arm. “Oh, I beg your pardon,” said Rosa, making a pretence of freeing him. “I’m afraid I’m leaning on you; but I sprained my ankle yesterday, and I thought—” “All right,” said Mr. Walters, gruffly.