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"STOP you!" said Para Handy, looking at his watch, "and I will give you a trate; I will introduce you to the finest sailor ever sailed the seas. Hes comin aboard the vessel in a little to say good-bye to us before he joins a kind o a boat thats bound for Valapariza. And I right or am I wrong, Dougie?"

"Thats what he said himsel, at any rate," said Dougie dubiously. "But ye canna put your trust in Jeck. He meant it right enough at the time, but that wass yesterday, and Jeck hass wan o them memories for mindin things thats no to be depended on--ass short and foggy ass a winter day!"

"Youll see hell come!" said Para Handy confidently. "Jecks a man o his word, a perfect chentleman! Forbye, I have the lend o his topcoat."

"Who is the consummate and accomplished mariner?" I asked, delaying my departure from the Vital Spark.

"Theres only wan in all the cope and canopy o British shippin" said the Captain. "John Maclachlanin the books, but Hurricane Jeck in every port from here to Callao. You have heard me speak of him? An arm like a spar and the hert of a child!"

"Ill assure you there iss nothing wrong wi his arm whatever," said the mate; "its like a davit." But he offered no comment on the heart of the illustrious seaman.

"Hell be here in a chiffy," Para Handy assured me eagerly. "Its worth your while waitin to meet him when you have the chance. Youll find him most agreeable; no pride nor palavers about him; chust like any common sailor. A full-rigged ship tattooed on his chest, and his hat wi a list to starboard. A night wi Jeck iss ass good ass a college education. You never saw such nerve!"

"Ill wait a little," I said; "life offers so few opportunities for seeing the really great."

Five minutes later, and a lanky weather-beaten person with a tightly buttoned blue serge suit, a brown-paper parcel in his hand, and a very low-crowned bowler hat at an angle of forty-five, dropped on to the deck of the Vital Spark.

"Peter," he said to the Captain anxiously, without preamble, "what did ye do wi my portmanta?"

"I never saw it, Jeck," said Para Handy. "Iss it runnin in your mind ye lost it?"

"Not exactly lost," said Hurricane Jack, "but its been adrift in this old town since Friday, and Im tackin round my friends to see if any of thems wearin a good Crimea shirt I had in it. No reflections upon anybody, mind--that was an A1 shirt," and he looked with some suspicion at the turned-up collar of my coat.

"Nobody here hass your shirt, Jeck, Ill assure you," protested the Captain. "What kind of a portmanta wass it?"

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Hurricane Jack of The Vital Spark

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