'It would be of the greatest possible service to you as an officer of the Crown.

It would give you so much weight there.

I could make you known, you know----' 'I could not hear of such a thing,' said Alaric, trembling at the idea which Uncle Bat had conjured up.
'There is Admiral Starbod, and Captain Focassel, and old Hardaport, and Sir Jib Boom--why, d----n me, they would all do anything for me--craving the ladies' pardon.' Alaric, in his own defence, was obliged to declare that the rules of the service especially required that he should hold no friendly communication with any one during the time that he was employed on this special service.

Poor Captain Cuttwater, grieved to have his good nature checked, was obliged to put up with this excuse, and consoled himself with abusing the Government which could condescend to give so absurd an order.
This was on the Saturday.

On the Sunday, going to church, the captain suggested that Alaric might, at any rate, just call upon Sir Jib on the sly.