"Hark 'ee, Ben," said the old sailor, knocking the ashes from his pipe upon the hob; "you may try, but dash my timbers if you'll ever cross the Thames to-night. ‘She wants you. The remainder of dinner was surreal and stilted. Not a bad man as men go, but he would sell whisky and gin. " "Poor child!" muttered Trenchard, abstractedly; "the whole scene upon the river is passing before me. As he returned to the table, he put his finger to his nose; and, though he said nothing, he thought he had a much better chance of winning his wager.
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