Philip hurriedly interposed, when he saw that the Shady ’un was about to speak. “It’s all right, Captain,” he said; “I certainly know this man, and there may have been a mistake. Don’t you think—pray pardon the suggestion—that he’s had a pretty good thumping, whether he deserved it or not?” “Well—p’raps ’e ’as,” replied the Captain, somewhat reluctantly. “But let me give you a word of advice, my friend,” he added to the abject Shady ’un. “W’en nex’ you tries to ’elp anybody, wot’s bein’ run over—or run through—by a couple of thieves, don’t show your kindness of ’eart by a thumpin’ ’im in the wes’kit; to a man o’ my figger, it _ain’t_ exactly a kindness. An’ don’t call gentlemen out of their names—’cos you’ll find——” “That’s all right, Captain,” interrupted Philip; “this man knows me as Mr. Chater.” To the Shady ’un, who had been that moment released, he whispered quickly—“Get off as fast as you can—and think yourself lucky.” The man needed no second bidding, and in a moment Philip Chater and the man whom he had addressed as the Captain were left standing alone in the street. The Captain was a big, burly individual, with a round good-tempered face, surrounded by a fringe of dark whiskers; whatever temporary exaltation he might have been labouring under, before the attack upon him, he was now perfectly sober, and looked at his friend with considerable gravity, and with a slowly shaking head. “My boy—far be it from the likes o’ me to interfere with a mess-mate, or with ’is little fancies—but I don’t like this ’ere sailin’ under false colours. I did know a ’ighly respectable ole gal, wot called ’erself the Queen o’ Lambeth; but she lived in a retirin’ way, in a lunatic asylum. W’y, if so be as your name is Crowdy—w’y, I ask, call yourself by such a common name as Chater?” “I can’t explain now,” said Philip, hurriedly. “A number of strange things have happened, since last I saw you. You mustn’t think badly of me, old friend; but, for the present, I _am_ sailing under false colours, and am known to all the world as Chater. Moreover, I must impress upon you to forget that you ever knew any one of the name of Crowdy, or that he ever sailed with you, on board the good ship ‘Camel,’ from Australia for England. Come—forget all about me, for the present—and tell me about yourself, and when you sail again.” He glanced at his watch, as he spoke, and found that it was exactly ten o’clock. “I have half an hour to spare, Captain; where shall we go, for a chat?” “W’y—to tell the truth, I’m a cruisin’ in strange waters, an’ ’ave lost my bearings a bit,” replied the Captain, looking about him with a puzzled air. “If so be as you knew of a place, where the grog wasn’t watered over much, with a locker for a man to rest ’isself on, it might be better than the streets—eh?”