“I dunno whether you was or not,” growled Bill. “There’s too many of the like o’ you ’round. Come, move on, or I’ll hand ye over to the cop!”
At this threat, Terry had to give up all hope of his lodging, and moved painfully away.
“I just hate this town!” he muttered. “There ain’t no place in it for me. I wish I could get away from it, so I do.”
His eyes wandered across the broad docks to the shipping beyond—tall-masted, deep-sea vessels all.
“I wish I could get aboard one o’ them boats an’ just sail away from this mean old place.”
It was not too dark yet to reveal the decks pretty[Pg 50] clearly. The fading light revealed Terry’s sturdy figure, too. He was a strong, well-built chap of fifteen.
“Jiminy crickets! I b’lieve I’ll try it!” he muttered, after an instant’s silent scrutiny of the individual on the quarter of the nearest craft; and then, despite the fact that big Bill, the watchman, shouted after him, he turned away from the great gate, which was the only entrance by land to the dock, and marched up the narrow gangplank to the vessel’s deck.
Captain Josh Carlton, who was pacing the deck with a huge cigar between his teeth, suddenly became conscious of the presence of somebody beside himself upon the quarter, by a shrill voice, which piped out:
“Mister, I say!”
“Who the dickens are you?” demanded the captain in surprise, gazing down upon young Terry from his height of six foot four.