his crew last Toosday, an' took his discharge an' the train down to
Plymouth. He've bought a wardrobe there--real wornut--an' 'tis comin'
round by sea. There's a plate-chest, too, he thinks you may fancy--
price thirty-five shillin secondhand: an' he hopes to reach Troy the day
after next, which by the post-mark is to-morra."

"Mr Philp," explained the barber, "calls in at the Office every mornin'
to read all the post-cards. 'Tis one of his habits."

"Recent bereavement?" asked Mr Philp, before Captain Cai could well
digest this.

"Eh?"

"Recent bereavement?" Mr Philp was examining the tall hat, which he had
picked up to make room for his own person on the customers' bench.

"That's another of his aptitoods," the barber interpolated.
"He attends all the funerals in the parish."

"In the midst o' life we are in death," observed Mr Philp. "That's a
cert, Cap'n Hocken, an' your hat put me in mind of it."

"Oh, 'tis my hat you're meanin'? What's wrong with it?"

"Did I say there was anything wrong? No, I didn't--God forbid! An' no
doubt," concluded Mr Philp cheerfully, "the fashions'll work round to it
again."

"I'll change it for another."