was insignificant. What was he? A deck hand; one who tarred iron, and
could take a trick at the wheel when some one was watching him. The
place outside might have been any dismal neighbourhood of London. Its
character had gone.

The tap-tapping on iron plates in the yard next door showed where we
were today. The sailor was silent for a time, and we listened together
to the sound of rivets going home. "That's right," said the outcast.
"Make them bite. Good luck to the rivets. What yard is that?" I told
him.

"What? I didn't know it was about here. That place! Well, it's a
good yard, that. They're all right. I was on a steamer that went in
there, one trip. She wanted it, too. You could put a chisel through
her. But they only put in what they were paid for, not what she
wanted. The old _Starlight_. She wouldn't have gone in then but for a
bump she got. Do you know old Jackson? Lives in Foochow Street round
about here somewhere. He's lived next to that pub in Foochow Street
for years and years. He was the old man of the _Starlight_. He's a
sailor all right, is Jackson.

"The last trip I had with him was ten months ago. The _Starlight_ came
in here to the West Dock with timber. She had to go into dry-dock, and
I signed on for her again when she was ready. This used to be my home,
Poplar, before I married that Cardiff woman. Do you know Poplar at
all? Poplar's all right. We went over to Rotterdam for something or
other, but sailed from there light, for Fowey. We loaded about three
thousand tons of china clay for Baltimore.

"The sea got up when we were abreast of the Wolf that night, and she