"Look 'ere," said the boatswain, springing up and catching him by the
sleeve; "I'll give it to you in writing. Come, you ain't faint-hearted?
Why, a bluejacket 'ud do it for the fun o' the thing. If I give it to
you in writing, and there should be an accident, it's worse for me than
it is for you, ain't it?"

Mr. Travers hesitated and, pushing his cap back, scratched his head.

"I gives you the two quid afore you go into the house," continued the
boatswain, hastily following up the impression he had made. "I'd give
'em to you now if I'd got 'em with me. That's my confidence in you; I
likes the look of you. Soldier or sailor, when there is a man's work to
be done, give 'em to me afore anybody."

[Illustration: "'I gives you the two quid afore you go into the house,'
continued the boatswain."]

The soldier seated himself again and let his bundle fall to the ground.
"Go on," he said, slowly. "Write it out fair and square and sign it, and
I'm your man."

The boatswain clapped him on the shoulder and produced a bundle of papers
from his pocket. "There's letters there with my name and address on
'em," he said. "It's all fair, square, and above-board. When you've
cast your eyes over them I'll give you the writing."

Mr. Travers took them and, re-lighting his pipe, smoked in silence, with
various side glances at his companion as that enthusiast sucked his
pencil and sat twisting in the agonies of composition. The document
finished--after several failures had been retrieved and burnt by the