“Yes, but I don’t expect to be in here long.  But tell me, do we get nothing more than a loaf? didn’t the jail give us this supper?” he inquired with surprise.

“Supper, indeed!—­it’s against the rules for prisoners to have coffee; that’s our private fixings; but you’ll get a pound of bloody neck-bone, they call beef, in the morning.  I have twice thrown mine to the dog, but he doesn’t seem to thank me for it; so I told the cook he needn’t trouble his steelyards for me again.”

Redman’s conversation was interrupted by a noise that seemed to be a ring of the prison bell, and an anxious expression which Manuel gave utterance to, indicated that he expected somebody would come to see him.  He was not disappointed, for a few minutes after, the bolts were heard to withdraw and the heavy door swung back.  There, true to his charge, was little Tommy, in his nicest blue rig, tipped off a la man-o’-war touch, with his palmetto-braid hat,—­a long black ribbon displayed over the rim,—­his hair combed so slick, and his little round face and red cheeks so plump and full of the sailor-boy pertness, with his blue, braided shirt-collar laid over his jacket, and set off around the neck, with a black India handkerchief, secured at the throat with the joint of a shark’s backbone.  He looked the very picture and pattern of a Simon-Pure salt.  He had wended his way through strange streets and lanes, with a big haversack under his arm, which Daley had relieved him of at the door, and brought into the room under his arm.  As soon as Manuel caught a glimpse of him, he rose and clasped the little fellow in his arms with a fond embrace.  No greeting could be more affecting.  Manuel exulted at seeing his little companion; but Tommy looked grieved, and asked, “But what has scarred your face so, Manuel?  You didn’t look that way when you left the brig.  We have had a site o’ folks down to see us to-day.”

“Oh, that’s nothing!—­just a little fall I got; don’t tell the Captain:  it’ll all be well to-morrow.”

“Here, Jack, take your knapsack; did yer bring ever a drop o’ liquor for the steward?” said Daley, addressing himself to Tommy, and putting the package upon the floor.

“Yes, Manuel!” said Tommy, “the Captain sent you some nice bread and ham, some oranges and raisins, and a bottle of nice claret,—­for he was told by the consul that they didn’t give ’em nothing to eat at the jail.  And I had a tug with ’em, I tell you.  I got lost once, and got a good-natured black boy to pilot me for a Victoria threepence,—­but he did not like to carry the bundle to the jail, for fear of his master.  Captain ’ll be up first thing in the morning, if he can get away from business,” said the little tar, opening the haversack and pulling out its contents to tempt the hungry appetites of those around him.