"That would be perfectly inadmissible, sir," said Simon, "the idea of a stranger's sleeping here!"
"A stranger!" cried the sailor. "Why, shipmate, do you happen to know who I am? Look at me! Don't you find somewhat of a family likeness to Lucius in my old weather-beaten mug? Why, man-alive, I'm his brother,—his own blood brother! You must a heard him speak of me. Been cruising round the world in chase of Fortune, but could never overhaul her. Been sick, shipwrecked, and now come back as poor as I went. But Lucius has got enough for both of us. How glad he'll be to see me to-morrow, hey, old Ink-and-tape?"
Simon had his doubts about that matter, but told the sailor to come in the morning, and see.
"That I will," said the tar, "and start him up with a rousing Happy New Year! But I say, shipmate, I don't want to sleep in the watch-house. Have you never a shilling about your trousers?"
Simon answered that he hadn't a cent.
"Why, don't that brother of mine give you good wages?"
"Enormous!" said Simon.
"What becomes of it all?"
"I spend it all—I'm very extravagant," said Simon, shaking his head. "And then, I'm sorry to say, your brother isn't always punctual in his payments. To-night, for instance, I couldn't get a cent from him."
"Then I tell you what I'd do, shipmate," said the sailor, confidentially. "I'd overhaul some of his letters. Steam will loosen a wafer, and a hot knife-blade, wax. I'd overhaul his money-letters and pay myself. Ha! ha! do you take? Now, that letter you've got in your fin, my boy, looks woundy like a dokiment chock full of shinplasters. What do you say to making prize of 'em? wouldn't it be a jolly go?"