an' goin' on for the tenth, when, on a Monday mornin', about this
time o' year, I gets out o' bed at five o'clock an' down to the quay
to have a look at my boat; for 'twas the fag-end of the Equinox, and
ther'd been a 'nation gale blowin' all Sunday and all Sunday night,
an' I thought she might have broke loose from her moorin's.

"The street was dark as your hat and the wind comin' up it like gas
in a pipe, with a brave deal o' rain. But down 'pon the quay day was
breakin'--a sort of blind man's holiday, but enough to see the boat
by; and there she held all right. You know there's two posts 'pon
the town-quay, and another slap opposite the door o' the 'Fifteen
Balls'? Well, just as I turned back home-long, I see a man leanin'
against thicky post like as if he was thinkin', wi' his back to me
and his front to the 'Fifteen Balls' (that was shut, o' course, at
that hour). I must ha' passed within a yard of en, an' couldn'
figure it up how I'd a-missed seein' en. Hows'ever, 'Good-mornin'!'
I calls out, in my well-known hearty manner. But he didn' speak nor
turn. 'Mornin'!' I says again. 'Can 'ee tell me what time 'tis? for
my watch is stopped'--which was a lie; but you must lie now and then,
to be properly sociable.

"Well, he didn' answer; so I went on to say that the 'Fifteen Balls'
wudn' be open for another dree hour; and then I walked slap up to en,
and says what the Wicked Man said to the black pig. 'You'm a queer
Christian,' I says, 'not to speak. What's your name at all?
And let's see your ugly face.'

"With that he turned his face; an' by the man! I wished mysel'
further. 'Twas a great white face, all parboiled, like a woman's
hands on washin' day. An' there was bits o' sticks an' chips o'