from his maritime troubles.

"You are luckier than the rest," he said, one day, stopping on his
rounds. "I never had so many steerage patients before."

The work was so heavy, in fact, that he obtained permission to get a
boy to assist him. The happy duty devolved upon Sandy, who promptly
embraced not only the opportunity, but the doctor and the profession
as well. He entered into his new work with such energy and enthusiasm
that by the end of the week he knew every man below the cabin deck. So
expeditious did he become that he found many idle moments in which to
cultivate acquaintances.

His chosen companion at these times was a boy in the steerage,
selected not for congeniality, but for his unlimited knowledge of all
things terrestrial, from the easiest way of making a fortune to the
best way of spending it. He was a short, heavy-set fellow of some
eighteen years. His hair grew straight up from an overhanging
forehead, under which two small eyes seemed always to be furtively
watching each other over the bridge of his flat snub nose. His lips
met with difficulty across large, irregular teeth. Such was Ricks
Wilson, the most unprepossessing soul on board the good ship
_America_.

"You see, it's this way," explained Ricks as the boys sat behind the
smokestack and Sandy became initiated into the mysteries of a
wonderful game called "craps." "I didn't have no more 'n you've got. I
lived down South, clean off the track of ever'thing. I puts my foot in
my hand and went out and seen the world. I tramps up to New York,
works my way over to England, tramps and peddles, and gits enough