Two days arterwards he thought of something; he remembered me. He 'ad
found a dirty old envelope on the floor, and with a bit o' lead pencil he
wrote me a letter on the back of one o' the bills, telling me all his
troubles, and asking me to bring some clothes and rescue 'im. He stuck
on one of the stamps he 'ad found in George's pocket, and opening the
door just afore going to bed threw it out on the pavement.

The world is full of officious, interfering busy-bodies. I should no
more think of posting a letter that didn't belong to me, with an unused
stamp on it, than I should think o' flying; but some meddle-some son of a
----a gun posted that letter and I got it.

I was never more surprised in my life. He asked me to be outside the
shop next night at ha'-past eleven with any old clothes I could pick up.
If I didn't, he said he should 'ang 'imself as the clock struck twelve,
and that his ghost would sit on the wharf and keep watch with me every
night for the rest o' my life. He said he expected it 'ud have a black
face, same as in life.

A wharf is a lonely place of a night; especially our wharf, which is full
of dark corners, and, being a silly, good-natured fool, I went. I got a
pal off of one of the boats to keep watch for me, and, arter getting some
old rags off of another sailorman as owed me arf a dollar, I 'ad a drink
and started off for the Mile End Road.

I found the place easy enough. The door was just on the jar, and as I
tapped on it with my finger-nails a wild-looking black man, arf naked,
opened it and said "H'sh!" and pulled me inside. There was a bit o'
candle on the floor, shaded by a box, and a man fast asleep and snoring