waiting in the cold gray end of the day for a
pauper s shelter from the night, and I confess it
almost unnerved me. Like the boy before the den
tist s door, I suddenly discovered a multitude of
reasons for being elsewhere. Some hints of the
struggle going on within must have shown in my
face, for one of my companions said, " Don t funk;
you can do it."

Of course I could do it, but I became aware that
even thru pence in my pocket was too lordly a
treasure for such a throng; and, in order that all in
vidious distinctions might be removed, I emptied
out the coppers. Then I bade good-by to my
friends, and with my heart going pit-a-pat, slouched
down the street and took my place at the end of the
line. Woful it looked, this line of poor folk totter
ing on the steep pitch to death; how woful it was
I did not dream.

Next to me stood a short, stout man. Hale and
hearty, though aged, strong-featured, with the tough
and leathery skin produced by long years of sun-
beat and weatherbeat, his was the unmistakable
sea face and eyes; and at once there came to me a
bit of Kipling s " Galley Slave ":

/tab\"By the brand upon my shoulder, by the gall of clinging steel;
/tab\By the welt the whips have left me, by the scars that never heal;
/tab\By eyes grown old with staring through the sun-wash on the brine,
/tab\I am paid in full for service...."

[[67]]

p066 _ -chap- _ toc-1 _ p067w _ toc-2 _ +chap+ _ p068

v?