But here he was, smiling serenely at me as I approached.
“What’s this foolishness I hear, Sam?” he demanded, when I had shaken his hand warmly.
“I’m off on a trip around the Horn,” said I, “to carry a cargo of building steel to the Pacific coast in that crippled old bark, yonder.”
His sharp eye followed mine and rested on the ship.
“Anything in it, my lad?”
“Not much except adventure, Uncle. But it will keep me from growing musty until Spring comes and the Seagull is ready for launching. I’m dead tired of loafing around.”
He began to chuckle and cough and choke, but finally controlled himself sufficiently to gasp:
“So’m I, Sam!”
“You?”
“Tired as blazes. New York’s a frost, Sam. Nothin’ doin’ there that’s worth mentionin’. All smug-faced men an’ painted-faced women. No sassiety, more policemen than there is sailors, hair-cuts thirty-five cents an’ two five-cent drinks fer a quarter. I feel like Alladin an’ the Forty Thieves—me bein’ Alladin.”