"Michael!" one of them called. "Wasn't there something about you and stowing away?"
"Oh, that's an old story," answered Michael.
"What's that about?" asked several of the younger men, who wanted to gather as much data as possible on this subject. "Tell us about it, Michael," they besought him.
"Well," said Michael, "it was when I came over on the A-Chiles."
"Was Johnson boss then?"
"Oh, before Johnson's time. I've been over with Johnson, too," said Michael.
"Shut up!" several admonished. "Let him tell the story."
"I was on the rocks," said Michael. "You see I got down to the docks too late to get the A-Chiles back."
There was a movement of interest, a drawing closer. This was a predicament they understood. There are always cattle to bring eastward from Canadian and U.S. ports to Liverpool or London, and the cattleman may return with his boss on the same ship; but if he loses it there are not cattle-boats plying west across the Atlantic to give him a job again. There is stoking to be done, of course, east and west, but there is some kind of stokers' union; and the cattleman does not know whether he would be welcomed among the stokers. There are always ways of getting across, but the cattleman, or at any rate the young cattleman, needs to be posted up on them.
"Where did you stow away?" asked one of the wizened partners of that youth who morning by morning demanded his shaving water from Rafferty. Michael had already begun his story, and this question, and others discharged from the rear of those clustered near him, slightly offended him.