“Wot’s wot?” said Mr. Rowe testily.

“That noise and the falling thing.”

“Somebody throwing, somethin’ at a cat,” said the barge-master.  “Stand aside, sir, if you please.”

It was a relief, but when at length Mr. Rowe came up to me with his cap off, in the act of taking out his handkerchief, and said, “I suppose you’re no richer than you was yesterday, young gentlemen—­how about a bed?”—­I said, “No—­o.  That is, I mean if you can get us a cheap one in a safe—­I mean a respectable place.”

“If you leaves a comfortable ’ome, sir,” moralized the barge-master, “to go a-looking for adventures in this fashion, you must put up with rough quarters, and wot you can get.”

“We’ll go anywhere you think right, Mr. Rowe,” said I diplomatically.

“I knows a waterman,” said Mr. Rowe, “that was in the Royal Navy like myself.  He lives near here, and they’re decent folk.  The place is a poor place, but you’ll have to make the best of it, young gentlemen, and a shilling ’ll cover the damage.  If you wants supper you must pay for it.  Give the missis the money, and she’ll do the best she can, and bring you the change to a half-farthing.”

My courage was now fully restored, but Fred was very much overwhelmed by the roughness of the streets we passed through, the drunken, quarrelling, poverty-struck people, and the grim, dirty old houses.

“We shall be out of it directly,” I whispered, and indeed in a few minutes more Mr. Rowe turned up a shabby entry, and led us to one of several lower buildings round a small court.  The house he stopped at was cleaner within than without, and the woman was very civil.

“It’s a very poor place, sir,” said she; “but we always keep a berth, as his father calls it, for our son John.”

“But we can’t take your son’s bed,” said I; “we’ll sit up here, if you will let us.”

“Bless ye, love,” said the woman, “John’s in foreign parts.  He’s a sailor, sir, like his father before him; but John’s in the merchant service.”

Mr. Rowe now bade us good-night.  “I’ll be round in the morning,” said he.

“What o’clock, Mr. Rowe?” I asked; I had a reason for asking.

“There ain’t much in the way of return cargo,” he replied; “but I’ve a bit of business to do for your father, Mr. Fred, that’ll take me until half-past nine.  I’ll be here by then, young gentlemen, and show you about a bit.”

“It’s roughish quarters for you,” added the bargemaster, looking round; “but you’ll find rougher quarters at sea, Master Charles.”

Mr. Howe’s moralizings nettled me, and they did no good, for my whole thoughts were now bent on evading his guardianship and getting to sea, but poor Fred was quite overpowered.  “I wish we were safe home again,” he almost sobbed when I went up to the corner into which he had huddled himself.

“You’ll be all right when we’re afloat,” said I.