“Dusta my feet,” answered Tony, greatly injured.

“What yer doin’, Oswald?” asks Tim sarcastically, “tryin’ to drag us up?”

“I only spoke for the best,” I answered, sick at heart.

“Ha! ha!” grated Tim, “guess you think we ain’t never rode in one of these wealthy wagons before.”

“Arn’t you rather young?” asked the lady soothingly of the “Spider,” who by virtue of his mechanical experience in civil life had been given a first class rating, “Arn’t you rather young to have so many things on your arm?”

“Yes,” answered the “Spider” promptly, “but I kin do a lot of tricks.”

The conversation languished from this point.

“We always take our boys to dinner, don’t we, dear?” said the lady to her husband a little later.

“Yes, dear,” he answered meekly, just like that.

Expectant silence from the four of us.

“Have you boys had dinner?” the lady asked.

“Certainly not,” we cried, with an earnestness that gave the lie to our statement, “no dinner!”

“None at all,” added Tim thoughtfully.

The automobile drew up at a 14k. plate-glass house that fairly made the “Spider” itch.

“Gosh,” he whispered to me, looking at the porch, “that wouldn’t be hard for me.”

During the dinner he kept sort of lifting and weighing the silver and then looking at me and winking in an obvious manner.

“Not many people here to-night,” said Tony from behind his plate.

“Why, there is the usual number,” said the husband in surprise, “my wife and myself live alone.”

“Oh,” said Tony, looking around at the tremendous dining hall, “I thought this was a restaurant.”

[Illustration:  “‘OH,’ SAID TONY, ‘I THOUGHT THIS WAS A RESTAURANT’”]

Tim started laughing then, and he hasn’t stopped yet.  He’s so proud he didn’t make the mistake himself.

The “Spider” didn’t open his mouth save for the purpose of eating.  He told me he was afraid his teeth would chatter.

Aug. 20th. Got a letter from Polly to-day.  She says that her finger is just itching for the ring.  I told the “Spider” about it and he said that he had several unset stones he’d let me have for next to nothing.  A good burglar is one of the most valuable friends a man can possess.

Sept. 3d. I had such a set-back to-day.  Never was I more confounded.  This morning I received a notice to report before the examining board for a first class rating.  Of course I had been expecting some slight recognition of my real worth for a long time, but when the blow fell I was hardly prepared for it.  Hurrying to “My Blue Jacket’s Manual,” I succeeded by the aid of a picture in getting firmly in my mind the port and starboard side of a ship and then I presented myself before the examiners—­three doughty and unsmiling officers.  There were about twelve of us up for examination.  Seating ourselves before the three gentlemen, we gazed upon them with ill-concealed trepidation.  One of them called the roll in a languid manner, and then without further preliminaries the battle began, and I received the first shock of the assault.  I don’t quite remember the question that man asked me, it was all too ghastly at the time, but I think it was something like this: