"He doesn't look it," replied another. "But one can't tell nowadays. There was a girlish-looking lad—" Here the man began a yarn in a low voice, and I buried my face in my coffee-cup, and almost scalded my throat, for it was steaming hot.
At this moment the waiter returned.
"I've got a room for you, messmate," he said, "and the best one in the house. If you've got your box ashore, I'll take it up myself."
"No, thanks," I replied. "I have nothing with me," hiding at the same time my little bundle with my feet.
I noticed that the man was looking very carefully at my hands. Although they were not soft exactly, as they had been hardened by the chopping of wood and the handling of hoe and spade, the life of the sailor-man stamps the hands so distinctly to the eye of a close observer that there is no chance for wrong in judging.
"Will you follow me? I'll show you up to the room," said the waiter-man.
I picked up my bundle and squeezed it under my arm, and followed him out of the room, creating no little comment, I dare say, for not a few craned their necks to get a look at me. In the hallway my guide stopped and spoke to a large florid person in a stained satin waistcoat.
"Here is the lad who wishes a room, Mr. Purdy," he said.
The big man looked at me from head to foot.
"It will cost two dollars, and we will give you your breakfast. Is it a lark of yours, lad? Eh? I know of a sailor with money giving a dollar bill to a cow to chew on for a cud. But it's your game to play the gentleman, eh?"