The brig _Elizabeth Barstow_ came up the river as though in a hurry
to taste again the joys of the Metropolis. The skipper, leaning on the
wheel, was in the midst of a hot discussion with the mate, who was
placing before him the hygienic, economical, and moral advantages of
total abstinence in language of great strength but little variety.

"Teetotallers eat more," said the skipper, finally.

The mate choked, and his eye sought the galley. "Eat more?" he
spluttered. "Yesterday the meat was like brick-bats; to-day it tasted
like a bit o' dirty sponge. I've lived on biscuits this trip; and the
only tater I ate I'm going to see a doctor about direckly I get ashore.
It's a sin and a shame to spoil good food the way 'e does."

"The moment I can ship another cook he goes," said the skipper. "He
seems busy, judging by the noise."

"I'm making him clean up everything, ready for the next," explained the
mate, grimly. "And he 'ad the cheek to tell me he's improving--
improving!"

"He'll go as soon as I get another," repeated the skipper, stooping and
peering ahead. "I don't like being poisoned any more than you do. He
told me he could cook when I shipped him; said his sister had taught
him."

The mate grunted and, walking away, relieved his mind by putting his
head in at the galley and bidding the cook hold up each separate utensil