ry-sores being the mark of the
caste that claimed him.

Since he was a boy and very busy, he did not bother his head with too
much thinking. He was exceedingly sorry for his mother, and often
longed to see her and above all to tell her of this wonderful new life,
and how brilliantly he was acquitting himself in it. Otherwise he
preferred not to wonder too much how she was bearing the shock of his
supposed death. But one day, as he stood on the foc'sle ladder, guying
the cook, who had accused him and Dan of hooking fried pies, it
occurred to him that this was a vast improvement on being snubbed by
strangers in the smoking-room of a hired liner.

He was a recognized part of the scheme of things on the We're Here; had
his place at the table and among the bunks; and could hold his own in
the long talks on stormy days, when the others were always ready to
listen to what they called his "fairy-tales" of his life ashore. It did
not take him more than two days and a quarter to feel that if he spoke
of his own life--it seemed very far away--no one except Dan (and even
Dan's belief was sorely tried) credited him. So he invented a friend, a
boy he had heard of, who drove a miniature four-pony drag in Toledo,
Ohio, and ordered five suits of clothes at a time and led things called
"germans" at parties where the oldest girl was not quite fifteen, but
all the presents were solid silver. Salters protested that this kind of
yarn was desperately wicked, if not indeed positively blasphemous, but
he listened as greedily as the others; and their criticisms at the end
gave Harvey entirely new notions on "germans," clothes, cigarettes with
gold-leaf tips, rings, watches, scent, small dinner-parties, champagne,
card-playing, and hotel accommodation. Little by little he changed his
tone when speaking of his "friend," whom Long Jack had christened "the
Crazy Kid," "the Gilt-edged Baby," "the Suckin' Vanderpoop," and other
pet names; and with his sea-booted feet cocked up on the table would
even invent histories about silk pajamas and specially imported
neckwear, to the "friend's" discredit. Harvey was a very adaptable
person, with a keen eye and ear for every face and tone about him.

Before long he knew where Disko kept the old greencrusted quadrant that
they called the "hog-yoke"--under the bed-bag in his bunk. When he took
the sun, and with the help of "The Old Farmer's" almanac found the
latitude, Harvey would jump down into the cabin and