d. It
was nothing he said or did, but his demeanor declared plainly he was
utterly reckless of events or consequences. It was amusing to observe
how circumspectly the bullies of the house walked while in his
neighborhood.

But I found him to be a man of silent and lonesome habit, and
temperate. He discouraged my friendly advance with a cold
indifference, and my idea of chumming with him during my pay-day "bust"
soon went glimmering. Yet I admired him mightily from the moment I
first clapped eyes upon him, and endeavored to imitate his carriage of
utter recklessness in my own strutting.

CHAPTER III

The talk in the Swede's house was all of drink and women and ships. I
was too young and clean to find much enjoyment in too much of the first
two; much liquor made me sick, and I did not find the painted Jezebels
of sailor-town attractive. But ships were my life, and I lent a ready
ear to the gossip about them. To tell the truth, I didn't enjoy the
Knitting Swede's place very much. I did so want to be a hard case, and
I guess I was a pretty hard case, but I didn't like the other hard
cases. Youth likes companionship, but I didn't want to chum with that
gang, willing though most of them were that I permit them to help me
spend my money. I hadn't been ashore twenty-four hours before I found
myself wishing for a clean breeze and blue water.

Shipping was brisk in the port, and I discovered I would have no
trouble in picking my ship when my money was gone. The _Enterprise_
was loading for Boston; the _Glory of the Seas_ would sail within the
fortnight for the United Kingdom; there were a half-dozen other smart
ships wishing to be manned by smart lads. I had nothing to worry
about. I could blow my pay-day as quickly as I liked; there was no
danger of my being stranded "on the beach."

So I spent my money, as violently as possible. I made a noise in the
Swede's house, and was proud of myself. My first A.B.'s spree!

On the third evening of my "bust," my mettle was tested. There was a
woman in the Swede's house, a slim wisp of a little Jewess, with the
sweet face of a Madonna and the eyes of a wanton. Well--she smiled on
me. She had good reason to; was I not making my gold pieces dance a
merry tune? Was I not fair game for any huntress?

But she belonged to the Swede's chief runner, his number one bouncer,
as ugly a brute as ever thumped a drunken sailor. The bully objected,
with a deal of obscene