‘Who me, sir? Lor’ no, sir. "Well—well," grumbled Jonathan, "I suppose I must be content. To write under a pseudonym!—to be forced to disown his children! He could not write under his own name, enjoy the fruits of fame should these tales prove successful. ‘Now then,’ said the captain sternly, ‘I’m not going to ask you what you’re doing here. At this moment, the landlord of the Crown, a jovial-looking stout personage, with a white apron round his waist, issued from the house, bearing a large wooden bowl filled with ale, which he offered to Jack, who instantly rose to receive it.
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