On the contrary, one of his greatest pleasures was to get.  “Working Willy,” as he called his senior, over a glass of wine, or a tumbler of “hot stuff,” and make him recount the labours of the day.  On such occasions, Wallace never failed to compare the situation of “Working Willy” with his own gentlemanlike ease and independence.  As second lieutenant, his rank raised him above most of the unpleasant duty of the ship, while it did not raise him high enough to plunge him into the never-ending labours of his senior.  He delighted to call himself the “ship’s gentleman,” a sobriquet he well deserved, on more accounts than one.

“You read Whig newspapers principally, I rather think, Mr. Spike,” answered the lieutenant, as has been just mentioned, “while we on board the Poughkeepsie indulge in looking over the columns of the Union, as well as over those of the Intelligencer, when by good luck we can lay our hands on a stray number.”

“That ship, then, is called the Poughkeepsie, is she, sir?” inquired Spike.

“Such is her name, thanks to a most beneficent and sage provision of Congress, which has extended its parental care over the navy so far as to imagine that a man chosen by the people to exercise so many of the functions of a sovereign, is not fit to name a ship.  All our two and three deckers are to be called after states; the frigates after rivers; and the sloops after towns.  Thus it is that our craft has the honour to be called the United States ship the `Poughkeepsie,’ instead of the `Arrow,’ or the `Wasp,’ or the `Curlew,’ or the `Petrel,’ as might otherwise have been the case.  But the wisdom of Congress is manifest, for the plan teaches us sailors geography.”

“Yes, sir, yes, one can pick up a bit of l’arnin’ in that way cheap.  The Poughkeepsie, Captain—?”

“The United States’ ship Poughkeepsie, 20, Captain Adam Mull, at your service.  But, Mr. Spike, you will allow me to look at your papers.  It is a duty I like, for it can be performed quietly, and without any fuss.”

Spike looked distrustfully at his new acquaintance, but went for his vessel’s papers without any very apparent hesitation.  Every thing was en regle, and Wallace soon got through with the clearance, manifest, &c.  Indeed the cargo, on paper at least, was of the simplest and least complicated character, being composed of nothing but eight hundred barrels of flour.

“It all looks very well on paper, Mr. Spike,” added the boarding officer.  “With your permission, we will next see how it looks in sober reality.  I perceive your main hatch is open, and I suppose it will be no difficult matter just to take a glance at your hold.”

“Here is a ladder, sir, that will take us at once to the half-deck, for I have no proper ’twixt decks in this craft; she’s too small for that sort of outfit.”

“No matter, she has a hold, I suppose, and that can contain cargo.  Take me to it by the shortest road, Mr. Spike, for I am no great admirer of trouble.”