“I pacified the skipper at last, and arter ’Arry ’ad swore true ’e’d go when ’e’d got the money, the skipper rushed round to try and raise it.  It’s a difficult job at the best o’ times, and I sat there on the skylight shivering and wondering whether the skipper or Mrs. Muffit would turn up fust.

“Hours seemed to pass away, and then I see the wicket in the gate open, and the skipper come through.  He jumped on deck without a word, and then, going over to the skylight, ’anded down the money to ’Arry.

“‘Right-o,’ ses ’Arry.  ‘It on’y shows you wot you can do by trying.’

“He unlocked the door and came up on deck, looking at us very careful, and playing with ’is stick.

“‘You’ve got your money,’ ses the skipper; ‘now go as quick as you can.’

“’Arry smiled and nodded at him.  Then he stepped on to the wharf and was just moving to the gate, with us follering, when the wicket opened and in came Mrs. Muffit and Uncle Dick.

“‘There he is,’ ses Uncle Dick.  ‘That’s the man!’

“Mrs. Muffit walked up to ’im, and my ’art a’most stopped beating.  Her face was the colour of beetroot with temper, and you could ’ave heard her breath fifty yards away.

“‘Ho!’ she says, planting ’erself in front of Artful ’Arry, ’so you’re the man that ses you’re my ‘usband, are you?’

“‘That’s all right,’ ses ’Arry, ‘it’s all a mistake.’

“‘Mistake?’ ses Mrs. Muffit.

“‘Mistake o’ Bill’s,’ ses ’Arry, pointing to me.  ’I told ’im I thought ’e was wrong, but ’e would ’ave it.  I’ve got a bad memory, so I left it to ‘im.’

“‘Ho!’ ses Mrs. Muffit, taking a deep breath.  ’Ho!  I thought as much.  Wot ‘ave you got to say for yourself—­eh?’

“She turned on me like a wild cat, with her ’ands in front of her.  I’ve been scratched once in my life, and I wasn’t going to be agin, so, fixing my eyes on ’er, I just stepped back a bit, ready for ’er.  So long as I kept my eye fixed on ’ers she couldn’t do anything.  I knew that.  Unfortunately I stepped back just a inch too far, and next moment I went over back’ards in twelve foot of water.

“Arter all, p’r’aps it was the best thing that could have ’appened to me; it stopped her talking.  It ain’t the fust time I’ve ’ad a wet jacket; but as for the skipper, and pore Uncle Dick—­wot married her—­they’ve been in hot water ever since.”

FOR BETTER OR WORSE

Mr. George Wotton, gently pushing the swing doors of the public bar of the “King’s Head” an inch apart, applied an eye to the aperture, in the hope of discovering a moneyed friend.  His gaze fell on the only man in the bar a greybeard of sixty whose weather-beaten face and rough clothing spoke of the sea.  With a faint sigh he widened the opening and passed through.

“Mornin’, Ben,” he said, with an attempt at cheerfulness.

“Have a drop with me,” said the other, heartily.  “Got any money about you?”