Hearing all this, I ventured to suggest that it must be an immense relief to him to sleep on shore in a good, motionless, solid four-post bed.

But, to my surprise, he scoffed at the idea; said he never slept comfortably out of his hammock; declared that he quite missed his occasional punch on the head from the ship's side; and ended by giving a most comical account of all the uncomfortable sensations he felt when he slept in a four-post bed.

The odd nature of one of the young sailor's objections to sleeping on shore reminded my husband (as indeed it did me too) of the terrible story of a bed in a French gambling-house, which he once heard from a gentleman whose likeness he took.
"You're laughing at me," says honest Foul-weather Dick, seeing William turn toward me and smile.--"No, indeed," says my husband; "that last objection of yours to the four-post beds on shore seems by no means ridiculous to _me,_ at any rate.

I once knew a gentleman, Dick, who practically realized your objection." "Excuse me, sir," says Dick, after a pause, and with an appearance of great bewilderment and curiosity; "but could you put 'practically realized' into plain English, so that a poor man like me might have a chance of understanding you ?"--"Certainly!" says my husband, laughing.
"I mean that I once knew a gentleman who actually saw and felt what you say in jest you are afraid of seeing and feeling whenever you sleep in a four-post bed.

Do you understand that ?" Foul-weather Dick understood it perfectly, and begged with great eagerness to hear what the gentleman's adventure really was.