The Return.  
Arthur Jollyboy, Esquire, of the Old Hulk, sat on the top of a tall three-legged stool in his own snug little office in the sea-port town of Bilton, with his legs swinging to and fro; his socks displayed a considerable way above the tops of his gaiters; his hands thrust deep into his breeches pockets; his spectacles high on his bald forehead, and his eyes looking through the open letter that lay before him; through the desk underneath it; through the plank floor, cellars and foundations of the edifice; and through the entire world into the distant future beyond.
 
“Four thousand pair of socks,” he murmured, pulling down his spectacles and consulting the open letter for the tenth time: “four thousand pair of socks, with the hitch, same as last bale, but a very little coarser in material.”
 
“Four thousand pair! and who’s to make them, I wonder. If poor Mrs Dorothy Grumbit were here—ah! well, she’s gone, so it can’t be helped. Four thousand!—dear me who will make them. Do you know?”
 
This question was addressed to his youngest clerk, who sat on the opposite side of the desk staring at Mr Jollyboy with that open impudence of expression peculiar to young puppy-dogs whose masters are unusually indulgent.
 
“No, sir, I don’t,” said the clerk with a broad grin.
 
Before the perplexed merchant could come at any conclusion on this knotty subject the door opened and Martin Rattler entered the room, followed by his friend Barney O’Flannagan.
 
“You’ve come to the wrong room, friends,” said Mr Jollyboy with a benignant smile. “My principal clerk engages men and pays wages. His office is just opposite; first door in the passage.”
 
“We don’t want to engage,” said Martin; “we wish to speak with you, sir.”
 
“Oh, beg pardon!” cried Mr Jollyboy, leaping off the stool with surprising agility for a man of his years. “Come in this way. Pray be seated—Eh! ah, surely I’ve seen you before, my good fellow?”
 
“Yis, sir, that ye have. I’ve sailed aboard your ships many a time. My name’s Barney O’Flannagan, at yer sarvice.”
 
“Ah! I recollect; and a good man you are, I’ve been told, Barney; but I have lost sight of you for some years. Been on a long voyage, I suppose?”
 
“Well, not ’xactly; but I’ve been on a long cruise, an’ no mistake, in the woods o’ Brazil I wos wrecked on the coast there, in the Firefly.”
 
“Ah, to be sure. I remember. And your young messmate here, was he with you?”
 
“Yes, sir, I was,” said Martin, answering for himself; “and I had once the pleasure of your acquaintance. Perhaps if you look steadily in my face you may—”
 
“Ah, then! don’t try to bamboozle him. He might as well look at a bit o’ mahogany as at your faygur-head. Tell him at wance, Martin, dear.”
 
“Martin?” exclaimed the puzzled old gentleman, seizing the young sailor by the shoulders and gazing intently into his face. “Martin! Martin! Surely not—yes! eh! Martin Rattler?”
 
“Ay that am I, dear Mr Jollyboy, safe and sound, and—”
 
Martin’s speech was cut short in consequence of his being violently throttled by Mr Jollyboy, who flung his arms round his neck and staggered recklessly about the office with him! This was the great point which Barney had expected; it was the climax to which he had been looking forward all the morning: and it did not come short of his anticipations; for Mr Jollyboy danced round Martin and embraced him for at least ten minutes, asking him at the same time a shower of questions which he gave him no time to answer. In the excess of his delight Barney smote his thigh with his broad hand so forcibly that it burst upon the startled clerk like a pistol-shot, and caused him to spring off his stool!
 
“Don’t be afeared, young un,” said Barney, winking and poking the small clerk jocosely in the ribs with his thumb. “Isn’t it beautiful to see the............