The Bum Actor raised his eyes.
“What happened then?” he asked in a nervous voice.
“Oh, we pitched in and righted things and got into port at last. But the Captain was no good; he'd a-left with the crew if we'd let him.”
“Is the shifting of a cargo a serious matter?” continued the Actor. “This is my second crossing and I'm not much up on such things.”
“Depends on the weather,” interpolated a passenger.
“And on how she's stowed,” continued Car-hart. “I've been mistrusting this ship ain't plumb on her keel. You can tell that from the way she falls off after each wave strikes her. I have been out on deck looking things over and she seems to me to be down by the stern more than she ought.”
“Maybe she'll be lighter when more coal gets out of her,” suggested another passenger.
“Yes, but she's listed some to starboard. I watched her awhile this morning. She ain't loaded right, or she's loaded wrong,-purpose. That occurs sometimes with a gang of striking stevedores.”
The noon whistle blew and the talk ended with the setting of everybody's watch, except the Bum Actor's, whose timepiece decorated a shop-window in the Bowery.