ood of London. Its
character had gone.

The tap-tapping on iron plates in the yard next door showed where we
were today. The sailor was silent for a time, and we listened together
to the sound of rivets going home. "That's right," said the outcast.
"Make them bite. Good luck to the rivets. What yard is that?" I told
him.

"What? I didn't know it was about here. That place! Well, it's a
good yard, that. They're all right. I was on a steamer that went in
there, one trip. She wanted it, too. You could put a chisel through
her. But they only put in what they were paid for, not what she
wanted. The old _Starlight_. She wouldn't have gone in then but for a
bump she got. Do you know old Jackson? Lives in Foochow Street round
about here somewhere. He's lived next to that pub in Foochow Street
for years and years. He was the old man of the _Starlight_. He's a
sailor all right, is Jackson.

"The last trip I had with him was ten months ago. The _Starlight_ came
in here to the West Dock with timber. She had to go into dry-dock, and
I signed on for her again when she was ready. This used to be my home,
Poplar, before I married that Cardiff woman. Do you know Poplar at
all? Poplar's all right. We went over to Rotterdam for something or
other, but sailed from there light, for Fowey. We loaded about three
thousand tons of china clay for Baltimore.

"The sea got up when we were abreast of the Wolf that night, and she
was a wet ship. 'We're running into it,' said old Jackson to the mate.
I was at the wheel. 'Look out, and call me if I'm wanted.'"

The man pushed his plate away, and leaned towards me, elbows on the
table, putting close his flat and brutish face, with his wet hair
plastered over all the brow he had. He appeared to be a little drowsy
with food. "Ever crossed the Western ocean in winter? Sometimes
there's nothing in it. But when it's bad there's no word for it.
There was our old bitch, filling up for'ard every time she dropped, and
rolling enough to shift the boilers. We reckoned something was coming
all right. Then when it began to blow, from dead ahead, the old man
wouldn't ease her. That was like old Jackson. It makes you think of
your comfortable little home, watching them big grey-backs running by
your ship, and no hot grub because the galley's flooded. The Wolf was
only two days behind us, and we had all the way to go. It was lively,
guv'nor. The third night I was in with