"Hark 'ee, Ben," said the old sailor, knocking the ashes from his pipe upon the hob; "you may try, but dash my timbers if you'll ever cross the Thames to-night. When my father died, and we were left alone in Jersey, I was quite a long time deciding whether I would go in for singing professionally or try painting. Bit priggish, isn’t it? And if he only knew it—so absurd. " Quitting the night-cellar, the trio soon arrived at the riverside. ‘I begin to ask myself why it is that I wish to become of these people.
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