“Out you come!” I exclaimed, and without more ado I seized my new acquaintance by the arm and fairly dragged him out at the door, and hauling him up the passage, shot him out on to the pavement. “Now, leg it before they come out,” I commanded, and my friend having by this time awakened to his position, we made off together for the harbour like a pair of quite exceptionally agile lamplighters, and did not slacken our pace until we were half-way along that stretch of quay known as the Military Road. In this secluded spot, with the dim shapes of the colliers’ masts looming above us on one side, and the tall, black sail lofts on the other, we halted to listen for the footsteps of pursuers, but all being silent we resumed our progress at a more leisurely pace. “Have a smoke?” asked my companion as he hoisted out of an enormous side-pocket a handful of cigars. “Thanks,” I replied, and then when we had lighted our respective weeds with some stinking Swedish matches from the same receptacle, I ventured to ask: “By the way, what _was_ all that row about?” My companion took his cigar from his mouth and laughed a little shyly. “The fact is,” he said, “I opened the ball by making a confounded fool of myself. You must know, I have a pet aversion--call it prejudice if you like--that pet aversion is Dutchmen, or rather, I should say, Scandinavians.” “Why, I thought they were considered excellent seamen,” I said. “So they may be,” he replied. “Anyhow, I don’t like ’em, and I am more than usually down on ’em just now, for one of the beggars got aboard of me last Tuesday night and played the deuce with my vessel.” “Indeed!” said I, pricking up my ears. “Ah! It was about seven bells in the middle watch--half-past three in the morning, you know--and as dark as a vault. We were slipping along with a nice little bit of easterly breeze, just abreast of the East Goodwin light, making for the Downs. It was the mate’s watch, and, my mate being a careful man, he had a look-out on each bow; the side-lights were burning brightly, everything was ship-shape and Bristol fashion, and nobody dreaming of any danger, when suddenly the port look-out gave a shout, and before anyone could stir, a vessel heaves up out of the darkness, with never a blessed light about her, mind you! and bumps right into us amidships. Her jibboom snapped off in our main shrouds and brought our main t’gallant clattering down about our ears, and then she came grinding along our side clawing about half our bulwarks away with the fluke of her anchor, and tearing our shrouds all to rags.” “And what had her skipper to say for himself?” I asked. “Say?” shouted my companion. “Why, bless your heart! before we could get about to speak to him he was off into the darkness without a sign; he might have been a derelict--but he wasn’t, for we saw a man at the wheel.” “How did you know he was a Scandinavian?” I inquired with my friend’s admitted prejudice in my mind.