credit with them, they would give weight to my faithful service and to his warm recommendation, when about to fill the vacancy made by his death.  And much more like this, sir.  I couldn’t believe my eyes.  It made me feel queer all over,” went on the old chap, in great perturbation, and squashing something in the corner of his eye with the end of a thumb as broad as a spatula.  “You would think, sir, he had jumped overboard only to give an unlucky man a last show to get on.  What with the shock of him going in this awful rash way, and thinking myself a made man by that chance, I was nearly off my chump for a week.  But no fear.  The captain of the Pelion was shifted into the Ossa—­came aboard in Shanghai—­a little popinjay, sir, in a grey check suit, with his hair parted in the middle.  ’Aw—­I am—­aw—­your new captain, Mister—­Mister—­aw—­Jones.’  He was drowned in scent—­fairly stunk with it, Captain Marlow.  I dare say it was the look I gave him that made him stammer.  He mumbled something about my natural disappointment—­I had better know at once that his chief officer got the promotion to the Pelion—­he had nothing to do with it, of course—­supposed the office knew best—­sorry. . . .  Says I, ’Don’t you mind old Jones, sir; dam’ his soul, he’s used to it.’  I could see directly I had shocked his delicate ear, and while we sat at our first tiffin together he began to find fault in a nasty manner with this and that in the ship.  I never heard such a voice out of a Punch and Judy show.  I set my teeth hard, and glued my eyes to my plate, and held my peace as long as I could; but at last I had to say something.  Up he jumps tiptoeing, ruffling all his pretty plumes, like a little fighting-cock.  ’You’ll find you have a different person to deal with than the late Captain Brierly.’  ‘I’ve found it,’ says I, very glum, but pretending to be mighty busy with my steak.  ’You are an old ruffian, Mister—­aw—­Jones; and what’s more, you are known for an old ruffian in the employ,’ he squeaks at me.  The damned bottle-washers stood about listening with their mouths stretched from ear to ear.  ’I may be a hard case,’ answers I, ’but I ain’t so far gone as to put up with the sight of you sitting in Captain Brierly’s chair.’  With that I lay down my knife and fork.  ’You would like to sit in it yourself—­that’s where the shoe pinches,’ he sneers.  I left the saloon, got my rags together, and was on the quay with all my dunnage about my feet before the stevedores had turned to again.  Yes.  Adrift—­on shore—­after ten years’ service—­and with a poor woman and four children six thousand miles off depending on my half-pay for every mouthful they ate.  Yes, sir!  I chucked it rather than hear Captain Brierly abused.  He left me his night-glasses—­here they are; and he wished me to take care of the dog—­here he is.  Hallo, Rover, poor boy.  Where’s the captain, Rover?” The dog looked up at us with mournful yellow eyes, gave one desolate bark, and crept under the table.