you stiddy, keeps you out of public-'ouses; not as they ain't good in
moderation--I 'ope you'll be 'appy."

A friendship sprang up between the two men which puzzled the remainder
of the crew not a little.

The cook thanked him, and noticed that Mr. Lister was fidgeting with a
piece of paper.

"A little something I wrote the other day," said the old man, catching
his eye. "If I let you see it, will you promise not to tell a soul about
it, and not to give me no thanks?"

The wondering cook promised, and, the old man being somewhat emphatic on
the subject, backed his promise with a home made affidavit of singular
power and profanity.

"Here it is, then," said Mr. Lister.

The cook took the paper, and as he read the letters danced before him.
He blinked his eyes and started again, slowly. In plain black and white
and nondescript-coloured finger-marks, Mr. Lister, after a general
statement as to his bodily and mental health, left the whole of his
estate to the cook. The will was properly dated and witnessed, and the
cook's voice shook with excitement and emotion as he offered to hand it
back.

"I don't know what I've done for you to do this," he said.

Mr. Lister waved it away again. "Keep it," he said, simply; "while