T

HE master of the sailor boarding house looked gloomily at his barkeeper.

"Just my blankety, blooming luck," he groaned. "Forty dollars advance offered for sailors, and not a blooming, blankety blank in sight."

The barkeeper expressed his loyal sympathy with his chief by an outbreak of seamanlike oaths which formed his sole claim to nautical knowledge. The master nodded in morose approval of this display of verbal fireworks, and then continued:

"If you wasn't such a blooming good drink mixer, Jack, I'm dummed if I wouldn't have half a mind to ship you with Captain Trask."

The barkeeper opened an alarmed eye (the other had been lost in a fight) and replied with truculent haste:

"I'm too fat to go aloft, and they don't want no one-eyed sailors anyhow."

"That's so," admitted the boardinghouse master regretfully. "I reckon the captain would take the fat off you all right, all right, but he couldn't put another eye on you-leastways not an eye that would help you see any better."

"Not much," returned the barkeeper decisively. "The last time I got an eye was when I t'rew Big Lip Johnson out for bumming a beer on a lead nickel, and I couldn't see for a week. It was a lu-lu."

"I wish we had Big Lip Johnson here now," said the master, regretfully. "We shipped him for twenty-five dollars. It was a clear loss of fifteen plunks."

"Too bad, wasn't it," said the barkeeper with mild sarcasm. "But I guess you got even on that outfit you sold him."

The master thought he discovered a shadow of reproach in the barkeeper's tone, for he hastened to retort:

"What's the diff, so long as he was too drunk to know it till he got outside."

"No diff," responded the barkeeper, with manly unconcern at the sentiments of Johnson sober.

"Well, this isn't telling me how to fill out Captain Trask's crew," said the mas

ter. "He wants to sail in the morning."

Having no suggestion to offer, the barkeeper flung out a scattering fire of oaths with no apparent aim, on the military principle of shelling a wood when no enemy is in sight.

At this moment the swinging door flew back and a round-faced little Italian entered. He wore a cheery but rather vacant smile, and a guitar was slung from his shoulder.

"Hello, "Tonio," cried the barkeeper. "No want the mus' today."

"No wanta da mus'?" said Antonio in grieved astonishment. "No-you no wanta da mus'-you ver' jolly. Dis-a boss-man," and he indicated the master with an expressive nod, "he wanta da mus'. He looka what-you-call down de nose-no, down de mouth, eh? I playa da guitar I seenga da laughing songI maka heem dance, eh?"

An idea came to the barkeeper and he whispered to the master. The master roused himself to interest.

"Here you, Tony," he cried. "You want a job?"

"Oh, yes; I lika da job. I lika seeng, I lika play da guitar, I maka plenty da men come taka da drink."

"Well, I've got the job for you then. A friend of mine wants just that sort of a man. He's a ship captain. He's fond of music. He wants to take it with him."

"I no know," said "Tonio doubtfully. "I no lika da ship. I ver seek when I come from Italia. I ver seek when I go outside da heads one day with one-two feeshermans."

"Oh, you'll be all right. It's a big ship and steady as a house. All you'll have to do is to hit your guitar, and sing songs to the captain, and play something lively when the sailors want to dance." "How mooch he pay? ?"

"Forty dollars a month and board." A gratified smile spread over "Tonio's face.

"Alla right. I try heem one month. Eef I no like, I queet."

"That's the way to talk, Tony. Have a drink."

"Joost one leetla one."