I knew the diver for Jodrey Vose because I had seen his picture at the tavern.
The business, whatever it was, did not take much time and the manager and the other man went away. Helpers began to shuck the diver from his suit; it was nearing sundown and work for the day was over, it seemed. When he was free from the bulk of the stuff and was starting for the cabin of the lighter I went to him and gave him the letter.
“From Dod, hey?” Then he told me to follow him.
I looked at him while he read the letter by the light of a bracket lamp. He was a wiry man with a twist of grizzled chin-beard. I was much comforted when he looked up from the letter and grinned.
“Ben Sidney’s boy! Well, your father was the only critter on two legs in Levant, in the old days, who could stand in a barrel, like I could, and jump out without touching the sides. You look as if you have some of his spryness and grit!”
“I hope so, sir. I have always worked at what has come to my hands to do.”
“Dod says business is a mite slow in Levant and that you want a job.”
“Yes, sir.”
Now there was gratitude in me as well as comfort; it was evident that Dodovah Vose had not written that I was a runaway.
The diver laid down the letter and went fumbling for his street clothes in a closet.