"My name is Jacob Twig, of the Dream, in the parish of St Thomas in the East, at your service; and for your excellent uncle's sake, it will give me great pleasure to be of use to you. But, Felix, my darling, we must go and dress for the ball at Mrs Roseapple's; we shall be late, I fear." The tall youngster, to whose intimacy I had so unexpectedly procured a passport, during all the time occupied by Mr Twig in expatiating, had been looking as grave as a judge, and making the best use of his time. Both now rose, and retired as it were to dress. Just as they had left the room, and the master of the Ballahoo and I had filled a glass of wine together, Mr Twig returned. "I say, Mr Brail, I have just been thinking you had better come with us--Mr Roseapple will be glad to see you, I know." "Why, I have not the honour of knowing your friend, Mr Roseapple," said I. "Besides, this gentleman is the captain of the brig that I came from Havanna in, and I invited him to supper with me; so"---- "The more the merrier, man--the more the merrier--why, _we shall take him too_." All this appeared to me very odd, and too free-and-easy by a great deal; but the sailor had by this time drank more Madeira than he was accustomed to, and as he, to my great surprise, made no objection to the proposal, only stating that he had no clothes fit to appear with in a ball-room, I thought I might as well swim with the current also. Jacob eyed him. "Why, do you know, you are a deuced good-looking fellow." Jack rose, and made a most awkward obeisance. "Oh, 'pon my honour," quoth Twig, with the utmost gravity--"so _my_ clothes will suit you to a nicety--ahem! Cato, tell Romulus to desire Cobbler to fetch in my portmanteau instantly. So come along, _my dear fellow_, and let us rig you." (What next, thought I--this to a man he never saw before!) And away the Jolly tar sculled between Mr Twig and his friend Flamingo. I had never before been guilty of such a heterodox proceeding, as going unasked to a ball given by a lady I had never seen or even heard of; and although the wine I had drank had by this created no small innovation in my brain, still I had discretion enough left to induce me to go up to Mr Twig's room door, where I again remonstrated with him on the impropriety of such an intrusion on my part. "Poo, nonsense, my dear fellow. Just say you are old Frenche's nephew, and the whole company will hug you as an old acquaintance, man--not a Creole miss but will set her cap at you--take Jacob Twig's word for it--why, you will find that your fame has outstripped you the instant your name is mentioned, for your uncle makes no secret of his intention to make you his heir--so come along, man. Go dress--that's a good fellow." I did so, and we were presently all in the hall of the tavern again, where friend Quacco was waiting with my cloak and hat, ready for a start. "Thank you, Quacco; I hope you have made yourself comfortable?"