"I'll take you over to Needle Johnson, if you want to have it done."
"Well, I don't know," reflected Sam. "Does it hurt?"
"Of course it doesn't. You will not even feel it. Doesn't hurt half as much as the sting of a Jersey mosquito."
"I'll go and talk with What's-his-name——"
"Needle Johnson."
"Yes. Where's Dan?"
"I think he has gone below. You come along, and he'll be surprised and envious when he finds you have had the job done," continued the boy's shipmate with a wink at some of the others standing by.
Sam somewhat reluctantly followed the jackie below, where, after some searching about, they finally located Needle Johnson. Needle was an old-time sea dog, wearing a heavy crop of whiskers and with a voice that would have done credit to a boatswain's mate.
"Here's a lad who hasn't had a hash mark put on his skin, and he's been on board for three months."
Needle gazed at the red-headed boy pityingly.