voice, at which he touched his cap, and became quite Meek and Humble. I caught him eyeing me, quite as narrowly as the steersman of the wherry had done, and when I asked him what ailed him, he stuck his Tongue in his cheek and grinned audaciously. "Who were those rough fellows in the wherry, yonder, that fouled us?" I asked. "Bluebottles," says he, with another grin. "What d'ye mean, fellow?" I continued. "Well, fresh-water fishermen, if you like," he went on, "that bait their hooks with salt worms. Will you please pay me my fare now, Master, since I am a Fellow forsooth, and Murphy's Murrain to you?" What Murphy's Murrain was--except some term of waterside sculduddrey I did not know--but I paid the knave his shilling, whereupon he very importunately craved another sixpence to drink my health, saying that it might be a very long time before he saw me again. Now I happened only to have one and fourpence left in the world, and suspecting that I had already overpaid him, I resisted further extortion, upon which he became more and more clamorous for money, and finding that I was as obstinate as he, rested on his oars and declared that, burn him--with many other execrations too unseemly to transcribe--he would not pull a stroke further. This it seems was by no means an uncommon occurrence among the dishonest waterside knaves of those days, and it afforded vast sport to a mob of small craft that gathered round, and the people in which covered me with ridicule and abuse, calling me a Thames Bilk, and advising the waterman to hold me over the side of the boat by the scruff of the neck and give me a Ducking. I was in a great Quandary, and knew not what to do. Meanwhile the heavy wherry, which had kept close in our offing, pulled almost on board of us, and the coxswain hailed us to know what was the matter. "Here's a Holiday Tailor that would seek to stump a poor waterman of his fare," quoth the false scoundrel who was striving to rob me. "'Tis a base lie!" I cried out; "I gave him a shilling at Westminster stairs to row me to the Tower wharf." "Fare's only fourpence. Shame! shame!" cried one part of the people in the small craft. "He's a Bilk," yelled another part of 'em. "Duck him, Goodman Crabs, duck him." "Stop," cries the coxswain of the wherry, standing up. "It _is_ a shame. The poor fellow shan't be put upon. Here, young man, step on board this, and we'll land you at the Tower wharf for nothing; and here, waterman, take this shilling and be d--d to you, and sheer off before you can cry Poor John."