He dropped Dad's seventy-odd years' gatherings in the Dusty Diamond's saloon.
"Don't ever let that bag out of your sight," he told Dad. "I'll be back in a few minutes."
Lucky Jim did not reappear on the dock until the gangplank had been hauled ashore and the lines cast off. Dad Manslow, almost frantic, stood on the saloon deck waving and shouting.
"Come on!" he cried, "Come on!"
Lucky Jim could still have jumped aboard.
"I can't come today, Dad," he made answer. "I'm too sleepy. Take care of yourself. So long."
The Dusty Diamond swung out into the channel.
Lucky Jim strolled across the street into the Red Fox and entered the bar. He was familiarly greeted by half a hundred men not unlike himself. He took off his old fur cap and bowed acknowledgments; tapped his breast.
"Lucky Jim," he cried, "from Easy Money bar."
He turned to stare at Pinleg Scoddy whose face was creased into something that remotely resembled a smite of welcome. He flung his poke on the bar.