Settled in the corner of the
beerhouse--which chanced to be nearly empty--with portentous
pewters before us, the conversation was opened by my new friend:
"I've been paid off from the Jupiter--Samuelson's Planet Line,"
he explained. "What I am is a fireman."
"She was from Singapore to London?" I asked.
"She was," he replied, "and it was at Suez it 'appened--at Suez."
I did not interrupt him.
"I was ashore at Suez--we all was, owin' to a 'itch with the
canal company--a matter of money, I may say. They make yer pay
before they'll take yer through. Do you know that?"
I nodded.
"Suez is a place," he continued, "where they don't sell whisky,
only poison. Was you ever at Suez?"
Again I nodded, being most anxious to avoid diverting the current
of my friend's thoughts.
"Well, then," he continued, "you know Greek Jimmy's--and that's
where I'd been."
I did not know Greek Jimmy's, but I thought it unnecessary to
mention the fact.
"It was just about this time on a steamin' 'ot night as I come
out of Jimmy's and started for the ship. I was walkin' along the
Waghorn Quay, same as I might be walkin' along to-night, all by
myself--bit of a list to port but nothing much--full o' joy an'
happiness, 'appy an' free--'appy an' free.
Pages:
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134