is that of the commercial traveller on the road.

'My own hand,' said the young man, without looking up. 'Have you any
tobacco?'

Torpenhow waited till the sketch was finished, and when he had looked
at it said, 'What's your business here?'

'Nothing; there was a row, so I came. I'm supposed to be doing something
down at the painting-slips among the boats, or else I'm in charge of the
condenser on one of the water-ships. I've forgotten which.'

'You've cheek enough to build a redoubt with,' said Torpenhow, and took
stock of the new acquaintance. 'Do you always draw like that?'

The young man produced more sketches. 'Row on a Chinese pig-boat,'

said he, sententiously, showing them one after another.--'Chief mate
dirked by a comprador.--Junk ashore off Hakodate.--Somali muleteer
being flogged.--Star-shelled bursting over camp at Berbera.--Slave-dhow
being chased round Tajurrah Bah.--Soldier lying dead in the moonlight
outside Suakin.--throat cut by Fuzzies.'

'H'm!' said Torpenhow, 'can't say I care for Verestchagin-and-water
myself, but there's no accounting for tastes. Doing anything now, are
you?'

'No. I'm amusing myself here.'

Torpenhow looked at the sketches again, and nodded. 'Yes, you're right