The soldier grunted and, stooping, picked up his bundle.
"I spoke of arf a sovereign just now," continued the boatswain, impressively, "and when I tell you that I offer it to you to do a bit o' burgling, you'll see 'ow necessary it is for me to be certain of your honesty."
"Burgling?" gasped the astonished soldier. "Honesty? 'Struth; are you drunk or am I?"
"Meaning," said the boatswain, waving the imputation away with his hand, "for you to pretend to be a burglar."
"We're both drunk, that's what it is," said the other, resignedly.
The boatswain fidgeted. "If you don't agree, mum's the word and no 'arm done," he said, holding out his hand.
"Mum's the word," said the soldier, taking it. "My name's Ned Travers, and, barring cells for a spree now and again, there's nothing against it. Mind that."
"Might 'appen to anybody," said Mr. Benn, soothingly. "You fill your pipe and don't go chucking good tobacco away agin."
Mr. Travers took the offered box and, with economy born of adversity, stooped and filled up first with the plug he had thrown away. Then he resumed his seat and, leaning back luxuriously, bade the other "fire away."
"I ain't got it all ship-shape and proper yet," said Mr. Benn, slowly, "but it's in my mind's eye. It's been there off and on like for some time."