An hour later he turned his back on Tocopilla.
He was passing one of the outer gates, near the edge of the city, when he was stopped by one of the many beggars which invest the town.
“Only a miserable pittance,” implored the ragged wretch, holding out a dirty hand for the gift.
Something in the beggar’s tone and manner arrested Jack’s attention. He had been addressed in English, which was unusual, but there was more than the language to attract him to the poor alms seeker.
Then, as he bent a closer gaze on the person, he exclaimed:
“Fret Offut! can this be you?”
“Jack North!” exclaimed the other. “I did not think of seeing you here.”
“Nor I you, most of all in this condition.”
“It was all I could do, Jack,” whined the other. “I have had such bad luck since you left me! But ain’t you looking like a peacock!”
“I have managed to get a living by working hard.”