[CHAPTER I.]
AN OLD FRIEND.
"Py chimineddy!" muttered Carl Pretzel to himself, starting up on the couch, where he had been snatching forty winks by way of passing the time. "Vat's dot? Der voice has some familiar sounds mit me. Lisden vonce."
A loud, jovial voice floated in through the open window, a voice with a swing to it that set Carl's nerves in a flutter.
"'In Cawsand bay lying,
And a Blue Peter flying,
All hands were turned up the anchor to weigh,
There came a young lady,
As fair as a May-day,
And modestly hailing, the damsel did say:
"'"I've got a young man there,
D'ye hear? Bear a hand there
To hoist me aboard or to bring him to me:
Which his name's Henry Grady,
And I am a lady,
Just come down to purwent his a-going to sea."'"
The roaring song had come closer and closer. By then it was almost under the open window. Jumping from the couch, Carl ran across the room and looked out.
A youth of seventeen or eighteen, wearing a sailor rig and with his hat cocked over one eye, was lurching along with both hands in his pockets. Behind him trailed four or five hoodlums, bunched close together and talking among themselves.
"Here's where I quit you, you lubbers," said the young sailor, halting at the steps leading up to the boarding-house door, and turning to the hoodlums. "A messmate of mine berths here, and I'm going to drop in on him and have a bit of a chat over old times. 'Bout ship, the lot of you, and make a good offing. I don't like the cut of your jibs any too well, anyhow. Slant away, slant away."
The sailor backed up against a post at the bottom of the steps.