"Well, honour quite enough between two gentlemen. I go fetch the bottle." Billy soon reappeared with a quart bottle of rum, just as three bells were struck. "By gad, I rattle the bottle as I take him out--wake Mr Courtenay--he say, dam black fellow he make everything adrift--cursed annoying, he say, and go to sleep again." "Really, gentlemen, I cannot wait any longer," resumed the master-at-arms; "the lights must be reported or I shall be in disgrace." "Very true, Byfield; you are only doing your duty. Will you take a glass of grog?" "If you please," replied Mr Byfield, taking off his hat, "Your health, gentlemen." "Thank you," replied the midshipmen. "Tank you, SIR," replied also Billy Pitt. "Well, Billy. What's the last word you read in your dictionary?" "Last word? Let me see--Oh! commission, sar. You know dat word?" "Commission! We all know what that is, Billy, and shall be glad to get it too, by-and-bye." "Yes, sar; but there are two kind of commission. One you want, obliged to wait for; one I want, always have at once,--commission as agent, sar." "Oh, I understand," replied Bruce; "five per cent on the bottle, eh?" "Five per cent not make a tiff glass of grog, Massa Bruce." "Well, then, Billy, you shall have ten per cent," replied the midshipman, pouring him out a _north-wester_. "Will that do?" The black had the politeness to drink the health of all the gentlemen of the berth separately, before he poured the liquor down his throat. "Massa Bruce, I tink doctor got a little rum in his cabin." "Go and fetch it, Billy; you shall have it back to-morrow." "Honour, Mr Bruce." "Honour, Mr Pitt." "Ten per cent, Massa Bruce," continued Billy, grinning. "Ten per cent is the bargain." "I go see." Another quart bottle made its appearance; and the agent having received his commission, made his bow, and returned to his hammock. "I do--really--think--upon--my--word--that that--black--scoundrel-- would--sell--his--own--mother--for--a--stiff--glass--of--grog," observed a youngster, of the name of Prose, a cockney, who drawled out his words, which, "like a wounded snake, dragged their slow length along." "The lights, gentlemen, if you please," resumed the master-at-arms, putting his head again into the door. "Another commission," said Jerry: "a tax upon light. Billy Pitt has the best right to it." A second glass of grog was poured out, and the bribe disappeared down Mr Byfield's gullet. "Now we'll put the light out," said one of the oldsters, covering the candlestick with a hat. "If you will put your candle into my lantern," observed the obsequious master-at-arms, "I can then report the lights out. Of course you will allow it to remain there?"