As a sort of "change of scene" or divertisement in the programme, somebody proposed games of this and games of that, and while old Capt. Figgles was as busy as "a flea in a tar bucket"--to use the old gentleman's simile--fulminating and fabricating a rousing bowl of egg flip for the entire party, Capt. Tiller and Dr. Mutandis were sort of paired off with a party of eight, in which were the two Miss Figgleses, to get up their own game. "Good!" says Capt. Tiller, "pair off with Miss Betsy, Doctor, and I'll pair off with Miss Sally (the older daughter of Capt. F.), and now what say you? Let's make up a wedding-party--_let's jump the broomstick!_" "Agreed!" cries the Doctor. "Who'll be the parson?" "I'll be parson," says Capt. T. "Well, get your book." "Here it is!" cries another, poking a specimen of current Scripture into the _pseudo_ parson's hands. "Miss Betsy and Dr. Mutandis, stand up," says Capt. Tiller, assuming quite the air and grace of the parson. Bridesmaids, grooms, &c., were soon arranged in due order, and the interesting ceremony of joining hands and hearts in one happy bond of mutual and indissoluble (slightly, sometimes!) love and obedience was progressing. "Cap'n Figgles, you're wanted," says one, interrupting the old man, now busy concocting his grog for all hands. "Go to blazes, you son of a sea cook!" cries the old gentleman; "haven't you common decency to see when a man's engaged in a _calculation_ he oughtn't to be disturbed, eh?" "But Betsy's going to be married!" insists the disturber, who, in fact, was half-seas over in infatuation with Miss Betsy, and had had a slight inkling of a fact that by the law of the State anybody could marry a couple, and the marriage would be as obligatory upon the parties as though performed by the identical legal authorities to whom young folks "in a bad way" are in the habit of appealing for relief. "Let 'em heave ahead, you marine!" cries Capt. Figgles. "Are you really willing to allow it?" continues the swain. "Me willing? It's Betsy's affair; let her keep the lookout," said the old gent. "But don't you know, Cap'n----" "No! nor I don't care, you swab!" cries the excited Captain. "Bear away out of here," he continued, beginning to get down the glasses from the corner-cupboard shelves, "unless--but stop! hold on! here, take this waiter, Jones, and bear a hand with the grog, unless you want to stand by, and see the ship's company go down by the lifts and braces, dry as powder-monkeys! There; now pipe all hands--ship aho-o-o-oy!" bawls the old Captain; "bear up, the whole fleet! Now splice the main-brace! Don't nobody stand back, like loblolly boys at a funeral--come up and try Capt. Figgles's grog!" And up they came, the entire crew, old Ebenezer to the _le'ard_, sweating like an ox, and laying off for the piping bowl he knew he was "in for" from the hands of his indulgent old master.