When I had got the damage repaired, and my goods and furniture placed in order again in the house and store, I continued to attend with my wonted carefulness to the business; but it is just and right, in this unvarnished narrative, to confess that I sometimes, as the moon of fortune was waxing, felt myself growing inclined to try my hand, like my neighbours, at a spec. However, I wrestled against the hazardous inclination with surprising fortitude, considering how I was tempted, until an event came to pass, which by its issues, as will appear in the sequel, was plainly ordained to be a trial. The matter arose thus.

At the time I was in the Bonnytown school, a boy was there by name Alek Preston, a spirited, clever, venturesome creature, as gleg as a trout, and souple as an eel: nothing would do for him but going to sea, which he did in a vessel from Leith, about the time my father took me into the smiddy to be a nailer: we had been great companions and sworn brethren in many a funny prank and harmless frolic. Indeed, he had such a natural instinct for mirth, that it was impossible to be half an hour in his company without being diverted, or to become acquainted with him without liking him for life, and yet he was the most thoughtless thing that man could put trust in. That part of his character I had, however, forgotten; I recollected only his light-heartedness and ever gambolling gaiety.

One day, as I was walking on some purpose anent seeds along Greenwich Street, I fell in with a sick sailor sitting on a door-step, in a very disconsolate condition.

He was barefooted; his trousers, which had been of superfine navy blue, though full of unsewed rents and holes, had never been mended; his jacket, too, was of the best stuff, with many small brass buttons, men-of-war's fashion, but in no belter plight, and he wore a slouched canvass hat that was either pitched or black painted.