"You're like a row in a rookery, father--nothing but _caws_,"

interrupted Tom.

"Well, I suppose I am; but that's what I call chop logic--aren't it, master?"

"It was a syllogism," replied the Dominie, taking the pannikin from his mouth.

"I don't know what that is, nor do I want to know," replied old Tom; "so I'll just go on with my story. Well, at last they came to downright fighting. Ben licks Poll 'cause she talked and laughed with other men, and Poll cries and whines all day 'cause he won't sit on her knee, instead of going on board and 'tending to his duty. Well, one night, a'ter work was over, Ben goes on sh.o.r.e to the house where he and Poll used to sleep; and when he sees the girl in the bar, he says, 'Where is Poll?' Now, the girl at the bar was a fresh-comer, and answers, 'What girl?' So Ben describes her, and the bar-girl answers, 'She be just gone to bed with her husband, I suppose;' for, you see, there was a woman like her who had gone up to her bed, sure enough. When Ben heard that, he gave his trousers one hitch, and calls for a quartern, drinks it off with a sigh, and leaves the house, believing it all to be true.

A'ter Ben was gone, Poll makes her appearance, and when she finds Ben wasn't in the tap, says, 'Young woman, did a man go upstairs just now?'

'Yes,' replied the bar-girl, 'with his wife, I suppose; they be turned in this quarter of an hour.' When she almost turned mad with rage, and then as white as a sheet, and then she burst into tears, and runs out of the house, crying out, 'Poor misfortunate creature that I am!' knocking everything down undersized, and running into the arms of every man who came athwart her hawse."

"I understood him, but just now, that she was running on foot; yet doth he talk about her _horse_. Expound, Jacob."

"It was a nautical figure of speech, sir."

"Exactly," rejoined Tom; "it meant her figure-head, old gentleman; but my yarn won't cut a figure if I'm brought up all standing in this way.

Suppose, master, you hear the story first, and understand it a'terwards?"

"I will endeavour to comprehend by the context," replied the Dominie.

"That is, I suppose, that you'll allow me to stick to my text. Well, then, here's coil away again. Ben, you see, what with his jealousy and what with a whole quartern at a draught, became _somehow nohow_, and he walked down to the jetty with the intention of getting rid of himself, and his wife and all his trouble by giving his soul back to his Creator, and his body to the fishes."

"Bad philosophy," quoth the Dominie.

"I agree with you, master," replied old Tom.

"Pray what sort of a thing is philosophy?" inquired Tom.

"Philosophy," replied old Tom, "is either hanging, drowning, shooting yourself, or, in short, getting out of the world without help."

"Nay," replied the Dominie, "that is _felo de se_."

"Well, I p.r.o.nounce it quicker than you, master; but it's one and the same thing: but to go on. While Ben was standing on the jetty, thinking whether he should take one more quid of 'baccy afore he dived, who should come down but Poll, with her hair all adrift, streaming and coach-whipping astern of her, with the same intention as Ben--to commit _philo-zoffy_. Ben, who was standing at the edge of the jetty, his eyes fixed upon the water, as it eddied among the piles, looking as dismal as if he had swallowed a hea.r.s.e and six, with the funeral feathers hanging out of his mouth--"

"A bold comparison," murmured the Dominie.

"Never sees her; and she was so busy with herself, that, although close to him, she never sees he--always remembering that the night was dark.

So Poll turned her eyes up, for all the world like a dying jackdaw."

"Tell me, friend Dux," interrupted the Dominie, "doth a jackdaw die in any peculiar way?"

"Yes," replied young Tom; "he always dies black, master."

"Then doth he die as he liveth. (_Cluck, cluck_.) Proceed, good Dux."

"And don't you break the thread of my yarn any more, master, if you wish to hear the end of it. So Poll begins to bludder about Ben. 'O Ben, Ben,' cried she; 'cruel, cruel man; for to come--for to go;--for to go-- for to come!'

"'Who's there?' shouted Ben.

"'For to come--for to go,' cried Poll.

"'Ship ahoy!' hailed Ben, again.

"'For to go--for to come,' blubbered Poll; and then she couldn't bring out anything more for sobbing. With that, Ben, who thought he knew the voice, walks up to her, and says, 'Be that you, Poll?'

"'Be that you, Ben?' replied Poll, taking her hands from her face, and looking at him.

"'I thought you were in bed with--with--oh! Poll!' said Ben.

"'And I thought you were in bed with--oh! Ben!' replied Poll.

"'But I wasn't, Poll?'

"'Nor more wasn't I, Ben.'

"'And what brought you here, Poll?'

"'I wanted for to die, Ben. And what brought you here, Ben?'

"'I didn't want for to live, Poll, when I thought you false.'

"Then Polly might have answered in the words of the old song, master; but her poor heart was too full, I suppose." And Tom sang--

"Your Polly has never been false, she declares, Since last time we parted at Wapping Old Stairs.

"Howsomever, in the next minute they were both hugging and kissing, sobbing, shivering and shaking in each other's arms; and as soon as they had settled themselves a little, back they went, arm-in-arm, to the house, and had a good stiff gla.s.s to prevent their taking the rheumatism, went to bed, and were cured of their jealously ever a'terwards--which in my opinion, was a much better _philo-zoffy_ than the one they had both been bound on. There, I've wound it all off at last, master, and now we'll fill up our pannikins."

"Before I consent, friend Dux, pr'ythee inform me how much of this pleasant liquor may be taken without inebriating, _vulgo_, getting tipsy."

"Father can drink enough to float a jolly-boat, master," replied Tom; "so you needn't fear. I'll drink pan for pan with you all night long."

"Indeed you won't, mister Tom," replied the father.

"But I will, master."

I perceived that the liquor had already had some effect upon my worthy pedagogue, and was not willing that he should be persuaded into excess.

I therefore pulled him by the coat as a hint; but he was again deep in thought, and he did not heed me. Tired of sitting so long, I got up, and walked forward to look at the cable.

"Strange," muttered the Dominie, "that Jacob should thus pull me by the garment. What could he mean?"

"Did he pull you, sir?" inquired Tom.

"Yes, many times; and then he walked away."

"It appears that you have been pulled too much, sir," replied Tom, appearing to pick up the tail of his coat, which had been torn off by the dog, and handing it to him.

"_Eheu! Jacobe--fili dilectissime--quid fecisti_?" cried the Dominie, holding up the fragment of his coat with a look of despair.

"'A long pull, a strong pull, and a pull altogether,'" sang out old Tom: and then looking at Tom, "Now, ain't you a pretty rascal, master Tom?"