"But the danger, Mr. Meddler," suggested Mrs. Marvel, in a trembling voice.
"There, mother," said Mr. Marvel; "didn't I tell you so, the other night?"
"You told her right," said Praiseworthy, with emphasis. "Danger on the sea, lady! What is it to danger on the land? A ship can ride over a wave, let it be ever so high; but a man can't step over a wagon. Are carts and drays and horses safe? Are gas-pipes safe? And if there is danger on the sea, lady--which I don't deny, mind you, altogether--what does it do? Why, it makes a man of a boy, and it makes a man more of a man."
"Hear, _hear_, HEAR!" exclaimed Mr. Marvel, rapping on the table.
"Look at me!" said the enthusiastic sailor. "Here am I--I don't know how many years old, and that's a fact--I've lived on the sea from when I was a boy; and I've been blown by rough winds, and I've been blinded by storms and I've been wrecked on rocky coasts, and I've been as near death, ay, a score of times, as most men have been. Lord love you, my dear! All we've got to do is to do our duty; and when we're called aloft, we can say, 'Ay, ay, sir!' with a brave heart. What better life than a life on sea is there for boy or man? And doesn't Saturday night come round?
"'For all the world's just like the ropes aboard a ship, Each man's rigged out, A vessel stout, To take for life a trip. The shrouds, the stays, the braces, Are joys, and hopes, and fears; The halliards, sheets, and traces, Still as each passion veers, And whim prevails, Direct the sails. As on the sea of life he steers. Then let the storm Heaven's face deform, And danger press; Of these in spite, there are some joys Us jolly tars to bless; For Saturday night still comes, my boys, To drink to Poll and Bess.'"
Praiseworthy Meddler roared out the song at the top of his voice, as if it were the most natural and appropriate thing for him to do just there and then. The effect of his sudden inspiration was, that every member of the Marvel family, without being previously acquainted with the young ladies referred to, repeated in their honor the refrain of the last two lines,--
"For Saturday night still comes, my boys, To drink to Poll and Bess,"
with such extraordinary enthusiasm, that the carroty-haired cat rose to her feet in alarm, debating within herself the possibility of the Marvel family having suddenly caught a contagious madness from the Old Sailor. Convinced that the matter required looking into, puss walked softly to the door, with the intention of arousing the neighbors; but, silence ensuing at the conclusion of the refrain, she became reassured, and stole back to her warm space on the floor, and curled herself up again, and blinked at the fire.