"Oh, yes; they gave it to me, all right. Here, look at this."
Sam pulled off a shoe and stocking, exhibiting his freshly tattooed foot.
"Well, what do you think of that?" marveled Dan.
"Not much," growled Sam.
"Who did it?"
"Old Pin Head—No, I mean old Needle Johnson."
"Why did you let him do that, Sam?"
"Let him? I didn't. The whole forecastle sat on me, and tied my foot up to a stanchion, while the head butcher performed the operation. I can hardly walk. But I forgot to tell you. Those black-faced fellows from the other side of the world sailed into me as if they wanted to eat me up. I don't like that pair a little bit, Dan."
"Imagination, Sam. Just because they are a little darker than we are, you do not like them. That is foolish."
"That's just the trouble. If it was only skin deep I wouldn't give a rap. The trouble with those fellows is that the black goes all the way through. I'll bet they are black clear to the bones. If Pills ever has to cut either of them open for anything I'm going to take a peek."