“It was an awful meeting!” he ses.  “Awful!”

I couldn’t think wot to make of it.  “Was the gal there, then?” I ses, staring at ’im.

“No,” ses the skipper; “but I was.”

“You?” I ses, starting back.  “You!  Wot for?  I’m surprised at you!  I wouldn’t ha’ believed it of you!”

“I felt a bit curious,” he ses, with a silly sort o’ smile.  “But wot I can’t understand is why the gal didn’t turn up.”

“I’m ashamed of you, Bill,” I ses, very severe.

“P’r’aps she did,” he ses, ’arf to ’imself, “and then saw my missis standing there waiting.  P’r’aps that was it.”

“Or p’r’aps it was somebody ’aving a game with you,” I ses.

“You’re getting old, Bill,” he ses, very short.  “You don’t understand.  It’s some pore gal that’s took a fancy to me, and it’s my dooty to meet ’er and tell her ’ow things are.”

He walked off with his ’ead in the air, and if ’e took that letter out once and looked at it, he did five times.

“Chuck it away,” I ses, going up to him.

“Certainly not,” he ses, folding it up careful and stowing it away in ’is breastpocket.  “She’s took a fancy to me, and it’s my dooty——­”

“You said that afore,” I ses.

He stared at me nasty for a moment, and then ’e ses:  “You ain’t seen any young lady hanging about ’ere, I suppose, Bill?  A tall young lady with a blue hat trimmed with red roses?”

I shook my ’ead.

“If you should see ’er” he ses.

“I’ll tell your missis,” I ses.  “It ’ud be much easier for her to do her dooty properly than it would you.  She’d enjoy doing it, too.”

He went off agin then, and I thought he ’ad done with me, but he ’adn’t.  He spoke to me that evening as if I was the greatest friend he ’ad in the world.  I ’ad two ’arfpints with ’im at the Albion—­with his missis walking up and down outside—­and arter the second ’arf-pint he said he wanted to meet Dorothy and tell ’er that ’e was married, and that he ’oped she would meet some good man that was worthy of ’er.

I had a week’s peace while the ship was away, but she was hardly made fast afore I ’ad it all over agin and agin.

“Are you sure there’s been no more letters?” he ses.

“Sartain,” I ses.

“That’s right,” he ses; “that’s right.  And you ’aven’t seen her walking up and down?”

“No,” I ses.

“’Ave you been on the look-out?” he ses.  “I don’t suppose a nice gal like that would come and shove her ’ead in at the gate.  Did you look up and down the road?”

“Yes,” I ses.  “I’ve fair made my eyes ache watching for her.”

“I can’t understand it,” he ses.  “It’s a mystery to me, unless p’r’aps she’s been taken ill.  She must ’ave seen me here in the fust place; and she managed to get hold of my name.  Mark my words, I shall ’ear from her agin.”

“’Ow do you know?” I ses.