engagement to Marjory Mayland; third, to celebrate the appointment of Robin Wright to a sufficiently lucrative and hopeful post under Sam; and, lastly, to enjoy the passing hour.
"Ladies and gentlemen," said uncle Rik, getting on his feet with some difficulty, when the tea, toast, muffins, eggs, and other fare had blunted the appetites, "I rise to propose the toast of the evening, and mark you, I don't mean to use any butter with this toast (Hear, from Sam) unless I 'm egged on (Oh!) to do it—so I charge you to charge your cups with tea, since we 're not allowed grog in this tee-total ship—though I 'm free to confess that I go in with you there, for I 've long since given up the use o' that pernicious though pleasant beverage, takin' it always neat, now, in the form of cold water, varied occasionally with hot tea and coffee. My toast, ladies and gentlemen, is Rob—(Rik put his hand to his throat to ease off his neck-tie) is Robin Wright, whom I 've known, off an' on, as a babby, boy, an' man, almost ever since that night—now twenty years ago, more or less—when he was launched upon the sea in thunder, lightning, and in rain. I've known him, I say—ever since—off an' on—and I 'm bound to say that—"
The captain paused. He had meant to be funny, but the occasion proved too much for him.
"Bless you, Robin, my lad," he gasped, suddenly
