In this town of Berwick.

For a month.

If not more.

As I say, a comfortable anchorage.

And time, too!--when you've seen as many queer places as I have in my day, young fellow, you'll know that peace and quiet is meat and drink to an ageing man." It struck me as I looked at him that he was just the sort of man that you would expect to hear of as having been in queer places--a sort of gnarled and stubbly man, with a wealth of seams and wrinkles about his face and what could be seen of his neck, and much grizzled hair, and an eye--only one being visible--that looked as if it had been on the watch ever since he was born.