'THAT THERE MASON'
I was in Ramsgate, in the pier-yard, and noticed the figure of a boatman leaning against the wall of a building used by the Trinity people. I stepped close, and looked at him. He was a little man, curved; his hands were buried to the knuckles' end in his breeches pockets; he wore a yellow sou'wester, and under it was a sour, sneering, wicked face. His eyes were damp and sunk, and seemed to discharge a thin liquor like pale ale, and he would not pull out his hands to wipe them.
'What's your name?' said I.
He looked at me slowly, beginning at my waistcoat, and answered: 'What's that got to do with you?'
'Do you want a job?'
'What sorter job?' he replied, continuing to lean against the wall, without any motion of his body, merely looking at me.
'The job of answering a civil question with a civil answer,' said I.
He turned his head, and gazed at the sea without replying.