class="GutSmall">R.

Reef.  A plague take these woods, I see no good in ’em—there’s no looking out a head the length of a bow sprit; I know he run down here.

1 Sail.  That’s what I said at first, and if you had taken my advice we should have come here without staying beating about the bushes like a parcel of harriers.

Reef.  He was a smart clean fellow, and would have done credit to the captain’s gig.—Eh! who have we here?—come, one man is as good as another, and this fellow seems a strong one.

Gray.  How now!—what would you?

Reef.  What would we?—why, what do you think of topping your boom—pulling your halyards taut, and turning sailor?

Gray.  Sailor!

Reef.  Aye—why you look as surprised as if we wanted to make you port admiral at once.

Gray.  Turn sailor?

Reef.  Sailor—what’s the use of turning the word over so with your tongue—I said sailor—it’s a useless gentility with us to ask you—because if you don’t like us, I can tell you we have taken a very great liking to you.

Gray.  With all my heart—Lucy is gone for ever—this place is hateful to me—amid the perils of the ocean, I may find my best relief—come.

Reef.  That’s right my hearty—come, scud away—eh, what have you brought yourself up with a round turn for?

Gray.  Then I leave my rival to the undisturbed possession of—oh, the thought is withering—no, no, I cannot.

Reef.  Cannot! we’re not to be put off, and by a landsman—so come, there’s one fellow already has outsailed us, piloting among these breakers,—one follow this morning—

Gray.  This morning—what kind of man?

Reef.  Why, to say the truth, messmate, he was a trim taut-rigged craft, and a devilish deal better looking than you are.

Gray.  And he escaped from you?

Reef.  Yes, but that’s more than we intend to let you do, so come.

Gray.  Oh it will be a sweet revenge—one moment—how stands your pocket?

Reef.  Why not a shot in the locker.

Gray.  Here.  (takes out a purse.)

Reef.  Eh! how did you come by all that? you hav’nt run a pistol against a traveller’s head, eh?

Gray.  These are the savings of a life of toil—I had hoarded them up for a far different purpose—but so that they buy me revenge—

Reef.  Aye, that’s a bad commodity; for when people are inclined to purchase, they’ll do it at any rate; but I say, no foul tricks you know.

Gray.  You say one man escaped you this morning, now I’ll lead you to him; moreover, if you secure him, this purse shall be your reward.

Reef.  Shall it! we are the boys; and what’s more, we don’t mind giving you your discharge into the bargain.

Gray.  Come on then; follow me into the town, and when the night comes on, I’ll find means to throw your victim into your hands; bear him away with as little noise as possible.

Reef.  Oh, never fear—if he attempts to hallo, we’ll put a stopper in his mouth to spoil his music.

Gray.  ’Tis well—thus I shall be revenged—Lucy, if you are resolved to hate, at least you shall have ample reason for it.

[Exit with Sailors.  L.

SCENE III.—A Room in the Blake’s Head.

Enter Label.  L.

Label.  Well, now let me see, where’s my next point of destination? ah, Dover.  Thus I go through the country, and by both my trades of barber and doctor, contrive to look at the bright side of life, and lay by a little for the snows of old age.  Had bad business here at Deal: all the people so plaguily healthy—not a tooth to be drawn—not a vein to be opened; the landlord here, master Collins, has been my only customer—the only man for whom I have had occasion to draw lancet.  Now it’s very odd why he should be so secret about it—all to prevent alarming his wife he says,—good tender man.

Enter Gilbert.  R.

Gil.  What, master Label, ah! bad work for you—all hearty as oaks—not a pulse to be felt in all Deal.

Label.  Ah, I can’t think how that is.

Gil.  Can’t you?  I’ll tell you—we’ve no doctors with us; no body but you, and you’ll never do any harm, because—

Label.  Because—because what?

Gil.  Why we all know you, and there’s few will give you the chance; who do you think would employ a doctor who goes about calling at peoples’ houses to mend their constitutions, as tinkers call for old kettles.

Label.  Ah, that’s it, humble merit may trudge its shoes off, and never finger a fee, whilst swaggering impudence bounces out of a carriage, and all he touches turns to gold.  Farewell, good Gilbert, farewell—I’m off for Dover.

Gil.  What! to night?

Label.  Yes, directly.

Gil.  Why you must pass through the church-yard.

Label.  What of that?

Gil.  Nothing, only if ever you had any patients, I thought you might have felt some qualms in taking that road.

Label.  Ever had any patients, I’ll whisper a secret in your ear; I’ve had one in this house!  Now what do you think of that?  What follows now?

Gil.  What follows now? why the grave-digger, I’m afraid; I say, I wonder you didn’t add the trade of undertaker to that of doctor.

Label.  Why?

Gil.  Why! how nicely you could make one business play into the other: when called in to a patient, as soon as you had prescribed for him, you know, you might have begun to measure him for his coffin.

Label.  Ah, you’re a droll fellow, but we won’t quarrel; I dare say you think me very dull now, but bless you I’m not, when I’m roused I can be devilish droll—very witty indeed.

Gil.  Aye, your wit is, I suppose, like your medicine—it must be well shaken before it’s fit to be administered; now how many of your jokes generally go to a dose?

Label.  No, no, it won’t do, I’m not to be drawn out now—I’ve no time to be comical, I must away for Dover this instant.

Gil.  A word with you, the sharks are out to-night.

Label.  The sharks?

Gil.  Aye, the blue-jackets, the press-gang—now you’d be invaluable to them; take my word, if they see you, you are a lost man.

Label.  Never fear me, the blue-jackets, bless you, if they were to catch hold of me, I should run off and leave a can of flip in their hands; now what do you think of that?

Gil.  Why I think of the two, the flip would be far the most desirable; but if you will go, why, a good night to you, and a happy escape.

Label.  All the same thanks to you for your intelligence; press me, bless you they’d sooner take my physic than me; no, no, I’m a privileged man—good-night, good-night.

[Exit R.

Gil.  That fellow has killed more people than ever I saw; how he looks his trade, whenever I behold him, he appears to me like a long-necked pint bottle of rheubarb, to be taken at three draughts; but I must put all thing, to rights—here’s my master and Miss Lucy will be here in a minute; the house is full of customers, and it threatens to be a boisterous night.