Yorkshireman.  Fish! you old flat.  Why, you know, you’d be the first to cry out if you had to do so.  No, no—­let’s have no humbug—­here, drink your coffee like a man, and then hustle your purse and see what it will produce.  Why, even Betsey’s laughing at the idea of your living upon fish.

Jorrocks.  Don’t shout so, pray—­your woice shoots through every nerve of my head and distracts me (drinks).  This is grand Mocho—­quite the cordial balm of Gilead—­werry fine indeed.  Now I feel rewived and can listen to you.

Yorkshireman.  Well, then, pull on your boots—­gird up your loins, and let’s go and spend this five pounds—­stay away as long as it lasts, in fact.

Jorrocks.  Well, but give me the coin—­it’s mine you know—­and let me be paymaster, or I know you’ll soon be into dock again.  That’s right; and now I have got three half-crowns besides, which I will add.

Yorkshireman.  And I’ve got three pence, which, not to be behind-hand in point of liberality, I’ll do the same with, so that we have got five pounds seven shillings and ninepence between us, according to Cocker.

Jorrocks.  Between us, indeed!  I likes that.  You’re a generous churchwarden.

Yorkshireman.  Well—­we won’t stand upon trifles the principle is the thing I look to—­and not the amount.  So now where to, your honour?

After a long parley, we fixed upon Herne Bay.  Our reasons for doing so were numerous, though it would be superfluous to mention them, save that the circumstance of neither of us ever having been there, and the prospect of finding a quiet retreat for Jorrocks to recover in, were the principal ones.  Our arrangements were soon made.  “Batsay,” said J——­ to his principessa of a cook, slut, and butler, “the Yorkshireman and I are going out of town to stay five pounds seven and ninepence, so put up my traps.”  Two shirts (one to wash the other as he said), three pairs of stockings, with other etceteras, were stamped into a carpet-bag, and taking a cab, we called at the “Piazza,” where I took a few things, and away we drove to Temple Bar.  “Stop here with the bags,” said Jorrocks, “while I go to the Temple Stairs and make a bargain with a Jacob Faithful to put us on board, for if they see the bags they’ll think it’s a case of necessity, and ask double; whereas I’ll pretend I’m just going a-pleasuring, and when I’ve made a bargain, I’ll whistle, and you can come.”  Away he rolled, and after the lapse of a few minutes I heard a sort of shilling-gallery cat-call, and obeying the summons, found he had concluded a bargain for one and sixpence.  We reached St. Catherine’s Docks just as the Herne Bay boat—­the Hero—­moored alongside, consequently were nearly the first on board.