“No, no,” said another.  “You’ve had enough, Kirkby; and Cludde there is half asleep already.”

“Ads bobs, Walton,” returned the man addressed as Kirkby, “are you growing like Benbow?  No wine, no gentlemen!  What’s things comm’ to, I say, when a fellow like Benbow, no gentleman”—­(he pronounced it “gemman")—­“flies his flag on a king’s ship!”

And then, being perfectly tipsy, he launched out into violent abuse of Joe Punchard’s captain, who was, it is true, a rough and ready seaman, and, I must own, somewhat uncouth in his manners.  From his words I learned that Kirkby had been a lieutenant on Benbow’s ship, and was deeply incensed that any one who was not a “gemman” should have had the right to give him orders.  For a full half hour he inveighed against that brave man, the head and front of whose offense appeared to be that he rated bravery more highly than blood, and seamanship than breeding, and often took sides with the tars against their officers.

“Why, what d’ye think of this now?” cried Kirkby. “’Twas on Portsmouth Hard, and a dirty old apple woman shoved her basket under my nose and begged me to buy, and wouldn’t be denied, and followed me whining up the road, and out of all patience I turns round and tips up her basket, and all the apples roll into the mud.  A tar who was smoking against the wall says something under his breath and begins to gather up the apples.  ‘Leave that, sirrah!’ says I. He begs my pardon and goes on as before.

“I up with my cane and was laying on for his insolence when Benbow roars out (’twas under the window of his inn) ‘What be you a-doin’ of?’ That’s how he speaks.  ‘What be you a-doin’ of?’ says he.

“‘I’m a-teachin’ of him manners,’ says I.

“‘I’ll teach you manners,’ he roars, and orders me back to my ship, and humiliates a gemman before a lout with hair as red as fire and legs that made a circle.”

“Why, sure ’twas Joe Punchard,” cries Cludde, “a fellow that near killed a friend o’ mine,” and he breaks into the old School distich—­

“O, pi, rho, bandy-legged Joe,
Turnip and carrots wherever you go.”

and the others screamed with maudlin laughter.

“I know who was the gemman,” whispers Mistress Appleby, who had heard it all.

Shortly afterwards, being in high good humor after vindicating their quality as gentlemen, the three called for their reckoning and went round to the stables to see to their horses.  I seized the opportunity to make my escape, taking leave very heartily of my kind host and hostess.  I was not sorry to get upon the road again, having purposed to cover at least twenty-five or thirty miles before night.  It was downhill now, and I was swinging along at a good pace when I heard horses behind me and saw, with annoyance, that I might not escape unnoticed, after all.  Cludde and his companions were cantering down the hill, at the risk of mishap, for naval officers are notoriously bad horsemen, and one of them—­ Kirkby, I doubt not—­was swaying in his saddle.  I stepped down to the side of a brook which skirted the road, hoping they would pass me by; but my lanky body was not one to escape remark, and Kirkby himself as he came up threw a jest at my height.  Cludde gave me a glance, and a malicious smile sat upon his face.