But if you will go to the reserved row
of the pit and fetch out my friend Mr. Basket--"
At this point the Major felt a hand clapped on his shoulder, and
turning, was aware of two sailors, belted and wearing cutlasses, who,
having lurched up the steps arm-in-arm, stood to gaze, surveying him
with a frank interest.
"What's wrong, eh?" demanded the one who had saluted him, and turned
to his comrade, a sallow-faced man with a Newgate fringe of a beard.
"Good Lord, Bill, what is it like?"
"It _looks_ like a wreck ashore," answered the sallow-faced sailor
after a slow inspection.
"Talk about bein' fond of the theayter! He must have _swum_ for it,"
said the other, and stared at the Major round-eyed. "You'll excuse
me; Ben Jope, my name is, bos'n of the _Vesuvius_ bomb; and this
here's my friend Bill Adams, bos'n's mate. _As_ I was sayin', you'll
excuse me, but you must be fond of it--a man of your age--by the
little you make of appearances."
"I was just explaining," stammered the Major, "that although, most
unfortunately, I have left my purse at home--"
But here he paused as Mr. Jope looked at Mr. Adams, and Mr. Adams
answered with a slow and thoughtful wink.
"Go where you will," said Mr. Jope cheerfully, stepping to the
ticket-office; "go where you will, and sail the high seas over, 'tis
wonderful how you run across that excuse. Three tickets for the
gallery, please; and you, Bill, fall alongside!" He linked an arm in
the Major's, who feebly resisted.
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