Just back from the door was a large stove, whose bulging, white-washed
cylinder, gleamed red with heat.

Tom immediately stepped up to this and began to thaw himself out.

"Ah, that feels nice!" he laughed to his companion.

"Well, young man, what do you want in here?" asked the bartender, in a
sharp, business-like style, bustling from behind the counter with the
evident intention of "bouncing" the lads.

"I want to get dry and warm," was the reply of Tom, from whose clothing
the steam was beginning to ascend.

"This ain't a shop to dry out boys. Why don't you go home?"

"We haven't any home."

"That's played; go where you stayed last night."

"That's near a hundred miles from here."

Two or three loungers laughed at the rather pert style in which Tom made
his replies, though in truth the lad meant no disrespect. The bartender
turned red in the face, and was angered at being taken up as he was.

"Hello, my wharf-rat, how did you get so wet?"

"In the water."