"That's so," retorted Goodwin shortly. "A hell of a time an' all."
The old man nodded and began to sew again, sailor fashion, thrusting the big needle with the leather "palm" which seamen use instead of a thimble. Goodwin, standing by his bunk, began to cut himself a fill for his pipe.
"Ain't been robbed, have ye?" inquired old Noble.
In his view, and according to his experience, a sailor with money on him ran peculiar risks when he went ashore. When Goodwin had been "shanghaied" in San Francisco drugged and carried on board unconscious while another man "signed on" for him and drew three months of his wages in advance those who shipped him had omitted to search him, and his money-belt was intact.
"Robbed? No!" answered Goodwin impatiently.
He lit his pipe, drawing strongly at the pungent ship's tobacco, and seated himself on the edge of the lower bunk, facing old Noble. The old man continued to sew, his hand moving rhythmically to and fro with the needle, his work spread conveniently in his lap. But for the rusty red of his tanned skin, he looked like a handsome and wise old woman.
"Jim," said Goodwin at last.
"Yes?" The old man did not look up.
"There wasn't nothin' doin' ashore there," said Goodwin. "I just went for a walk along the street, and then I well, there wasn't nothin' doin', ye see, so I went into a sort o' mission that there was."
"Eh?" Old Noble raised his head sharply and peered at him. "Ye ain't been an' got religion, Dan?"