shillin's in 'is trouseys? A good drunk is wot 'e's got in 'is pockits,
a good long drunk, an' the wimmen skin 'im out of his money so quick 'e
ain't 'ad 'ardly a glass. I know. I've 'ad my fling, an' I know wot's
wot. An' I tell you, where's wimmen is trouble--screechin' an' carryin'
on, fightin', cuttin', bobbies, magistrates, an' a month's 'ard labour
back of it all, an' no pay-day when you come out."

"But a wife and children," I insisted. "A home of your own, and all
that. Think of it, back from a voyage, little children climbing on your
knee, and the wife happy and smiling, and a kiss for you when she lays
the table, and a kiss all round from the babies when they go to bed, and
the kettle singing and the long talk afterwards of where you've been and
what you've seen, and of her and all the little happenings at home while
you've been away, and--"

"Garn!" he cried, with a playful shove of his fist on my shoulder. "Wot's
yer game, eh? A missus kissin' an' kids clim'in', an' kettle singin',
all on four poun' ten a month w'en you 'ave a ship, an' four nothin' w'en
you 'aven't. I'll tell you wot I'd get on four poun' ten--a missus
rowin', kids squallin', no coal t' make the kettle sing, an' the kettle
up the spout, that's wot I'd get. Enough t' make a bloke bloomin' well
glad to be back t' sea. A missus! Wot for? T' make you mis'rable?
Kids? Jest take my counsel, matey, an' don't 'ave 'em. Look at me! I
can 'ave my beer w'en I like, an' no blessed missus an' kids a-crying for
bread. I'm 'appy, I am, with my beer an' mates like you, an' a good ship
comin', an' another trip to sea. So I say, let's 'ave another pint. Arf
an' arf's good enough for me."

Without going further with the speech of this young fellow of two-and-
twenty, I think I have sufficiently indicated his philosophy of life and