“No time, Harry now.”

“Oh, make time. You ought to after that passage. No? Not even one for the baby?”

“Who told you about him?”

“Oh, forty people. And I hear he’s a wonder, too.”

“Well, I don’t know but what I will have a little touch—just one. And, Harry, as God is my judge”—Clancy in a rapture held his free arm aloft—” he grips my moustache only just now, and d’ y’ think I could make him let go? Not him. Man! but what a grip he’ll have for a wheel if ever he lives to grow up and has to go fishing.”

“Let’s hope he’ll never have to go fishing.”

“There you said it, Harry.” Clancy laid the free arm on Glover’s.

“No, let’s hope he won’t. It’ll do for us, but not for our children. But if he does, and if ever he takes his mains’l in to any—”

“If he does he’ll be no boy of yours, Tommie. And so he’ll never take it in to any that’s afloat. And now, Tommie, before we drink the boy’s health—that bet I made with you just before we left on the passage—”

“That, Harry? And we drinking to the boy? Why, it’s the next thing to a christening! No, put your money back.”

“But what’ll I do with it?”

“Lord! I don’t care what you do with it. Heave it overboard, or buy bait with it, or give it to the foreign missions. I know I don’t want it, nor won’t take it. Here’s to the boy—and the mother—God bless her!—that bore him.”