d as Axel Gunderson and Red John painted the pastoral delights and
festive customs of their respective countries, each fell in love with the
other's home place, and they solemnly pledged to make the journey
together, and to spend, together, six months in the one's Swedish home
and six months in the other's Norwegian home. And for the rest of the
voyage they could hardly be pried apart, so infatuated did they become
with discussing their plans.

Long John was not a home-body. But he was tired of the forecastle. No
boarding-house sharks in his. He, too, would get a room in a quiet
family, and he would go to a navigation school and study to be a captain.
And so it went. Each man swore that for once he would be sensible and
not squander his money. No boarding-house sharks, no sailor-town, no
drink, was the slogan of our forecastle.

The men became stingy. Never was there such economy. They refused to
buy anything more from the slopchest. Old rags had to last, and they
sewed patch upon patch, turning out what are called "homeward-bound
patches" of the most amazing proportions. They saved on matches, even,
waiting till two or three were ready to light their pipes from the same
match.

As we sailed up the San Francisco water-front, the moment the port
doctors passed us, the boarding-house runners were alongside in whitehall
boats. They swarmed on board, each drumming for his own boarding-house,
and each with a bottle of free whisky inside his shirt. But we waved
them grandly and blasphemously away. We wanted none of their
boarding-houses and none of their whisky. We were sober, thrifty
sailormen, with better use for our money.

Came the paying off before the shipping commissioner. We emerged upon
the sidewalk, each with a pocketful of money. About us, like buzzards,
clustered the sharks and harpies. And we looked at each other. We had
been seven months together, and our paths were separating. One last
farewell rite of comradeship remained. (Oh, it was the way, the custom.)
"Come on, boys," said our sailing master. There stood the inevitable
adjacent saloon. There were a dozen saloons all around. And when we had
followed the sailing master into the one of his choice, the sharks were
thick on the sidewalk outside. Some of them even ventured inside, but we
would have nothing to do with them.

There we stood at the long bar--the sailing master, the mate, the six
hunters, the six boat-steerers, and the