"'Ave some more beer and think it over," said Mr. Kidd, pale with
excitement. "Three pints, please."

He and Mr. Brown took up their pints, and nodded at each other. Mr.
Gibbs, toying idly with the handle of his, eyed them carefully. "Mind,
I'm not promising anything," he said, slowly. "Understand, I ain't
a-committing of myself by drinking this 'ere pint."

"You leave it to me, Joe," said Mr. Kidd.

Mr. Gibbs left it to him after a discussion in which pints played a
persuasive part; with the result that Mr. Brown, sitting in the same bar
the next evening with two or three friends, was rudely disturbed by the
cyclonic entrance of Mr. Kidd, who, dripping with water, sank on a bench
and breathed heavily.

"What's up? What's the matter?" demanded several voices.

"It's Joe--poor Joe Gibbs," said Mr. Kidd. "I was on Smith's wharf
shifting that lighter to the next berth, and, o' course Joe must come
aboard to help. He was shoving her off with 'is foot when--"

He broke off and shuddered and, accepting a mug of beer, pending the
arrival of some brandy that a sympathizer had ordered, drank it slowly.

"It all 'appened in a flash," he said, looking round. "By the time I 'ad
run round to his end he was just going down for the third time. I hung
over the side and grabbed at 'im, and his collar and tie came off in my
hand. Nearly went in, I did."