"That's what it is, debotchin'-- there ain't no other name for it." Still his wife sighed, shook her head sorrowfully, and stitched on.

Mr.
Higginbotham resumed the newspaper.
"Has he paid last week's board ?" he shot across the top of the newspaper.
She nodded, then added, "He still has some money." "When is he goin' to sea again ?" "When his pay-day's spent, I guess," she answered.

"He was over to San Francisco yesterday looking for a ship.

But he's got money, yet, an' he's particular about the kind of ship he signs for." "It's not for a deck-swab like him to put on airs," Mr.Higginbotham snorted.

"Particular! Him!" "He said something about a schooner that's gettin' ready to go off to some outlandish place to look for buried treasure, that he'd sail on her if his money held out." "If he only wanted to steady down, I'd give him a job drivin' the wagon," her husband said, but with no trace of benevolence in his voice.