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The captain sat down, his face glowing with this satisfactory recognition of his work.

“I met Cap’n Hargreaves as I was a-coming up,” he said; “and I explained to him your ideas on the subject, an’ he went straight back, as straight as he could go, to make out his disbursement sheet.”

“Ah! we shall soon have things on a better footing now,” said the governor, unfolding the paper, while the skipper gazed abstractedly through the small, dirty panes of the office window at the bustle on the quay below.

For a short space there was silence in the office, broken only by the half-audible interjections of the reader. Then he spoke.

“Simmons!” he said sharply.

The old clerk slipped from his stool, and obeying the motions of his employer inspected, in great astonishment, the first disbursement sheet which had ever entered the office. He read through every item in an astonished whisper, and, having finished, followed the governor’s example and gazed at the heavy figure by the window.

“Captain Fazackerly,” said his employer, at length, breaking a painful silence.

“Sir,” said the captain, turning his head a little.

“I’ve been talking with Simmons about these disbursement sheets,” said the owner, somewhat awkwardly; “Simmons is afraid they’ll give him a lot of extra trouble.”

The captain turned his head a little more, and gazed stolidly at the astonished Simmons.

“A man oughtn’t to mind a little extra trouble if the firm wishes it,” he said somewhat severely.

“He’s afraid it would throw his books out a bit,” continued the owner, deftly avoiding the gaze of the injured clerk. “You see, Simmons’ book-keeping is of the old-fashioned kind, cap’n, star-fishes and all that kind of thing,” he continued, incoherently, as the gaze of Simmons, refusing to be longer avoided, broke the thread of his discourse. “So I think we’ll put the paper on the fire, cap’n, and do business in the old way. Have you got the money with you?”

“I have, sir,” said Fazackerly, feeling in his pocket, as he mournfully watched his last night’s work blazing up the chimney.

“Fire away, then,” said the owner, almost cordially.

Captain Fazackerly advanced to the table, and clearing his throat, fixed his eyes in a reflective stare on the opposite wall and commenced:–

“Blown away fore lower topsail, fore-staysail, and carried away lifts to staysail. To sailmaker for above, eleven pounds eighteen shillings and ten-pence,” he said, with relish. “Tug out to the bar, three pounds. To twenty-eight pounds black soot, I mean paint–“