"What, my bo' Bill—my littleest kid come home agin—Lord bless you, my boy. I'm so glad to see you."
When the heads of the family had done with him, William was condescending enough to allow the women-folks and customers to welcome him. After they had finished the lad took a seat between his father and mother, and fell-to at the food, between the mouthfuls relating his adventures. His parents were deeply interested in his recital, and when he concluded his meal, a pipe was filled by his mother and handed to him, and he shared his father's gin and water as he proceeded with his story. When he informed them that he had been left all Old Jemmy's prize money and pay, which would amount together with his own to about thirty pounds, his father observed that it must be put in the Savings Bank for him.
"I knows a better game nor that, dad."
"What is it, bo'?"
"Vy, lay it out in a skittul alley, and put over the gangway, Bill Jordun and Son."
Upon hearing this observation the man laid down his pipe, shook hands solemnly with his son, and declared, "that it was a bargain."
That is why the sign of the Blue Posts at Portsea came to run as follows:—
William Jordun and Son (Wm.),
licensed to sell
beer
to be drunk on the premises.
N.B. A good dry skittle alley.
And here we take our leave of master William Jordun, being unable to give our readers any further information concerning that undaunted youth.