An' that's all about et; an' wen 'tes over, 'tes over, as Joan said
by her weddin'."

With this Caleb stepped ashore, spat good-naturedly, put his hands in
his pockets, and went off whistling.

At this moment Mr. Fogo, who had been on the quay long enough to hear
this altercation, touched him softly by the arm.

"You said you were going to have a drink, I believe. May I go with
you? I wish to ask you a few questions."


[Illustration: "You said you were going to have a drink, I believe.
May I go with you?"]


"Sutt'nly, sir," said Caleb with a stifled grin, as he recognised the
hero of the morning. "_I_ generally patronises the 'King o'
Prooshia' for beer. It won't make your hair curl, nor yet prevent
your seein' a hole dro' a ladder: but perhaps neither o' these is
your objec'."

Mr. Fogo, a little bewildered, replied modestly that he pursued
neither of these aims. Caleb led the way across the quay, and they
ascended the steps of the "King of Prussia" together.

"My object," said Mr. Fogo timidly, as they were seated together in
the low-roofed parlour before two foaming mugs--"My object was this.
In the first place, I like your look."