mate."

"Goddedaal!" I exclaimed.

"And a good name for him too," chuckled the man-o'-war's man, who

probably confounded the word with a familiar oath. "A good name

too; only it weren't his. He was a gen'lem'n born, sir, as had gone

maskewerading. One of our officers knowed him at 'ome, reckonises him,

steps up, 'olds out his 'and right off, and says he: ''Ullo, Norrie,

old chappie!' he says. The other was coming up, as bold as look at it;

didn't seem put out--that's where blood tells, sir! Well, no sooner does

he 'ear his born name given him, than he turns as white as the Day of

Judgment, stares at Mr. Sebright like he was looking at a ghost, and

then (I give you my word of honour) turned to, and doubled up in a dead

faint. 'Take him down to my berth,' says Mr. Sebright. ''Tis poor old

Norrie Carthew,' he says."

"And what--what sort of a gentleman was this Mr. Carthew?" I gasped.

"The ward-room steward told me he was come of the best blood in

England," was my friend's reply: "Eton and 'Arrow bred;--and might have

been a bar'net!"

"No, but to look at?" I corrected him.

"The same as you or me," was the uncompromising answer: "not much to

look at. I didn't know he was a gen'lem'n; but then, I never see him

cleaned up."

"How was that?" I cried. "O yes, I remember: he was sick all the way to

'Frisco, was he not?"

"Sick, or sorry, or something," returned my informant. "My belief, he

didn't hanker after showing up. He kep' close; the ward-room steward,

what took his meals in, told me he ate nex' to nothing; and he was

fetched ashore at 'Frisco on the quiet. Here was how it was. It seems

<<BackPagesTo menuNext>>