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“How in the name of Mercury came you here?” asked the major, after they were seated.

“Ginger beer—gingerbread, beer,” murmured Waddy abstractedly. “Bass’ Pale Ale. Yes—ah, well!”

“What, ho! Patrick!” called the major. “Here’s Mr. Waddy come back and wants his ale!”

While Patrick grinned a cheerful recognition and drew the cork, Mr. Waddy explained his position and the gingerbread allusion.

“I sail at two for Portland in the Billy Blue Nose,” he concluded. “Why won’t you come and see me in the States?”

“Why not? I’ll join you when you please,” assented Granby instantly. “I already have a furlough. I wish I could start to-day.”

“Come by the next steamer, to-day fortnight,” suggested Ira, “and meet me in Boston at the Tremont House. I’m really as much a stranger as you; but they all know me. We’ll see the lions together.”

“You’ll have to be a ladies’ man, for my sake,” said the major. “I’ve heard the American women are the loveliest of the world, and I’ve determined to see for myself. I thought, before I saw you, of dropping in at Newport this summer. That’s the mart, I hear.”