"White as a mushroom, but hard as steel," he said when he finished prodding.
"How are you, Moleskin?" I asked. They were the first words that I had spoken.
"Nine pounds to the good!" he roared. "I'll paint Moran's red with it. I'll raise Cain and flamin' fiery hell until ev'ry penny's spent. Then Rosyth, muck barrows, hard labour, and growlin' gangers again. But who'd have thought of seen' you here!" he went on in a quieter tone. "Man! I've often been thinkin' of you. I heard that you went up to Lon'on, then I found the name of the paper where you were workin' your shifts and I bought it ev'ry day. By God! I did, Flynn. I read all them great pieces about the East Lon'on workin' people. I read some of your writin's to the men in Burn's at Greenock, and some of the lodgers said that you were stuck up and priggish. I knew what you'd do if you were there yourself. You would knock red and blue blazes out of ev'ry man of them. Well, you weren't there and I done the job for you. Talk about skin and hair! It was flyin' all over the place between the hot-plate and the door for two hours and longer. I'm damned eternal if it wasn't a fight! Never seen the like of it.... Man! your hands are like a woman's, Flynn!... Come and have a drink, one good long, gulpin' drink, and it will make a man of you!... Did you like the ways of London?"
"No," I replied. "The pen was not in my line."
"I knew that," said Joe solemnly, as he lifted the bottle from the pillow. "Finger doctorin' doesn't suit a man like you. When you work you must get your shoulder at the job and all the strength of your spine into the graft. Have some blasted booze?"
"I've given up the booze, Moleskin," I answered.
He glanced at me with a look of frosty contempt and his eyes were fixed for a long while on my white hands.
"Lon'on has done for you, man, and it is a pity indeed," he said at last, but I understood Moleskin and knew that his compassion was given more in jest than in earnest. "What are you goin' to do? Are you for Rosyth?"
"No."