had some grounds for so styling himself, leaned with his back against
the gate, as if the effort to stand upright was too much for him on
the top of his recent disappointment. His plight was undoubtedly
pitiable. He had no money, it was well after midnight, the city was
distant, and moreover the search for a lodging would in his condition
be a matter of time and difficulty. Taking pity on his forlorn state,
I offered him the shelter of my own roof for the night, an offer he
was not slow to accept, remarking that one gentleman should help
another; and that if I had any "tidy brandy" he would be able to get
on well enough until to-morrow. So we set out for my lodgings in Cecil
Street.

This chance meeting was the beginning of a long and intimate
acquaintance. In the course of conversation I disclosed to Charles
Webster--such was his name--the desperate state of my affairs, with
the gloomy prospect they entailed. The remedy he proposed--and when
sober he spoke well and sensibly--was drastic and by no means
unfeasible. "Cut it all and go to sea," he said. "You've enjoyed
yourself while your money lasted, and what's the good of money but to
spend? You've spent yours--now go to sea and get some more. That's how
I do--have a regular good blow-out when I draw my pay, and then ship
for another voyage."

"That is all very well for you," I replied, "but how can I, without
either training or experience, get a berth on board ship?"

"I can do it for you," replied Webster. "Lots of vessels are ordered
to sea in a hurry, and not particular in picking up a crew, or perhaps
a trifle over-loaded or not properly found, and short-handed in
consequence. That's the sort of craft I'd look out for you, and if one