Seeing us approach, he began with uncouth and clumsy movements to descend from his perch; but he gave my uncle a hard look as we came up with him, and then, spitting upon the ground, he said,
"Bless my eyes—surely 'tis—ain't your name Stephen Brent, sir?"
My uncle looked at the man in the way of one who is puzzled, and for some while stood thus, the man smiling at him. Then of a sudden his face partly cleared, and he said—
"You are never Nick Wabberley?"
"The same, sir, Nick and Wabberley, as you knowed five and twenty year ago."
"Why, man, I am glad to see you," says my uncle heartily, offering his hand, which the man took, not however before he had rubbed his own hand upon the back of his breeches.
"Same to you, sir, and very glad I am to see you so hearty. After five and twenty year at sea——"
"You have been to sea!" cries my uncle, his jolly face beaming. "Then you must come up to my house to supper and tell me all about it."
"Why, d'ye see, sir, there's my messmate," said the man, with a glance at the prone figure, which had not moved; indeed, there came from beneath the hat a succession of snores, as untuneful as ever I heard. "We're in tow, d'ye see," added the big man.
"Bring him too," says my uncle. "We have plenty of bread and bacon, thank God."