“I sail to-morrow,” said the other; “shall you be ready?”
“Ready this moment,” was the answer. “I have nothing of my own but what I stand in.”
“Come along then with me,” said his kind friend; “I’ll see you properly rigged out, and you shall go on board with me at once.”
They had not long left the hotel, and were passing along a back street on their way to the outfitter’s, when a man came hastily out of a low public-house, and ran rather roughly against Captain Merryweather.
“Halloa, my friend,” cried the sailor, “have a care; you should keep a brighter look-out. You’ve run me down, and might have carried away a spar or two.”
The man looked round, and muttered something.
“I’m sorry to see you coming out of such a place, my man,” added the captain.
“Well, but I’m not drunk,” said the other.
“Perhaps not, but you’re just on the right tack to get drunk. Come, tell me what you’ve had.”
“I’ve only had seventeen pints of ale and three pennorth of gin.”