'A happy, well-disciplined crew are the jolliest company of men in the world,' said Mr. Vanderholt. 'They have plenty to eat, no rent to pay, dollars for the girls at the end of the voyage, and they behold the wonders of the world at the cost of the ship-owner--poor fellow! For diversions, think--they dance in the dog-watch, they sing songs and tell stories, they play at cards, they fight----' 'A little, sir,' said Captain Glew. 'We made a sport of fighting in our time,' said Vanderholt. 'We'd take two men, and nail them face to face on a sea-chest, with long spikes driven through the stern of their trousers. It was good sport.' He opened his mouth to let out a cloud, smiling at some forecastle recollections, which perhaps caused him to regret that his daughter was present, for he found Glew a good listener. 'Sailors take some pleasure in cards,' said Captain Glew. 'I remember, when I was second-mate of a ship, having occasion to go forward. It was night, a dead calm; a frightful thunderstorm was about us; the lightning was hissing like snakes all over everything that was metal aloft, and every crash of thunder was like the splitting of the heavens by God's own hand in wrath. I took a peep down the forecastle, and in the midst of this tremendous commotion, which was fit to subdue the heart of the stoutest, sat four sailors at a chest, playing at cards, a lighted candle in a bottle in the midst of them, all so intent on the game that they heard and saw nothing.' 'Sail-ho!' at this moment sang out a fellow aloft, on the little top-gallant yard. 'Where away?' shouted Glew, with the sharp of his hand to his mouth. 'Right ahead, sir!' cried down the seaman, in a sort of chant. 'If she's going to England you shall make our number, Glew--for George's sake,' said Mr. Vanderholt, looking at his daughter. Just then the boatswain hailed the sailor on the top-gallant yard, and gave him some directions. 'That Jones is a fine-looking man,' said Mr. Vanderholt; 'such as he should never want a ship. What's his nation?' 'London, sir.' 'A mighty nation!' exclaimed Miss Violet. 'Which does not believe in a God,' said Vanderholt, 'though it worships a Madonna called Our Lady of Threadneedle Street.' 'There's many a pilgrim always bound to that shrine,' said Captain Glew, trying to smile. 'I am of Dutch extraction,' continued Mr. Vanderholt; 'but never dropped the letter H, nor found the V's and W's difficult. I have out-generationed that trouble of the foreigner. But why is it that the Cockney should drop his H? You speak of London. Think of the number of H's which are dropped in it every day!' 'George once made a pun,' exclaimed Miss Vanderholt. 'We were talking of a certain young lady, and I said: "Do you observe that she drops her H's?" "Her sister does worse," he answered. "Address her and she drops her eyes."' Captain Glew again tried to smile. Mr. Vanderholt, expelling a great cloud of smoke, burst in: