"Well, you've got money," said the cook, "why don't you knock off work
now and spend the evenin' of your life ashore? Why should you save up
for your relatives?"

"I've got no relatives," said Mr. Lister; "I'm all alone. I 'spose I
shall leave my money to some nice young feller, and I hope it'll do 'im
good."

With the dazzling thoughts which flashed through the cook's brain the
cabbage dropped violently into the saucepan, and a shower of cooling
drops fell on both men.

"I 'spose you take medicine?" he said, at length.

"A little rum," said Mr. Lister, faintly; "the doctors tell me that it is
the only thing that keeps me up--o' course, the chaps down there "--he
indicated the forecastle again with a jerk of his head--"accuse me o'
taking too much."

"What do ye take any notice of 'em for?" inquired the other, indignantly.

"I 'spose it is foolish," admitted Mr. Lister; "but I don't like being
misunderstood. I keep my troubles to myself as a rule, cook. I don't
know what's made me talk to you like this. I 'eard the other day you was
keeping company with a young woman."

"Well, I won't say as I ain't," replied the other, busying himself over
the fire.

"An' the best thing, too, my lad," said the old man, warmly. "It keeps