“Now tell me, my fine fellow,” said he, addressing Ralph Rackstraw, “How came your Captain so far to forget himself?”
“Please your honour,” said Ralph, pulling respectfully at his forelock, “it was thus wise. You see I’m only a topman—a mere foremast hand—”
“Don’t be ashamed of that,” said Sir Joseph, “a topman is necessarily at the top of everything.”
This, of course, was not the case, but Sir Joseph, having been a solicitor, did not know any better.
“Well, your honour,” said Ralph, “love burns as brightly on the forecastle as it does on the quarter-deck, and Josephine is the fairest bud that ever blossomed on the tree of a poor fellow’s wildest hopes!”
Sir Joseph could scarcely believe his ears.
“Are you referring to—er—Miss Josephine Corcoran?” gasped Sir Joseph.
“That’s the lady, Sir,” said Ralph, “in fact here she is, bless her little heart!”
And Josephine rushed into Ralph’s outstretched arms.
“She’s the figure-head of my ship of life—the bright beacon that guides me into the port of happiness—the rarest, the purest gem that ever sparkled on a poor but worthy fellow’s trusting brow.”