tired, as if they'd seen 'bout all there was to see of some kinds of
life. Twenty-four year old eyes hadn't ought to look that way.

"But I wasn't interested in eyes jest then. All I could look at was
teeth. There they was, a lovely set of 'em, in the mouth of the ugliest
specimen of a bow-legged bulldog that ever tried to hang itself at the
end of a chain. Allie was holding t'other end of the chain with both
hands, and they were full, at that. The dog stood up on his hind legs
and pawed the air with his front ones, and his tongue hung out and
dripped. You could see he was yearning, just dying, to taste of a
middle-aged longshoreman by the name of Obed Nickerson. I stared at
the dog, and he stared at me. I don't know which of us was the most
interested.

"'Here, you!' says Allie again. 'What are you crossing this field for?'

"I heard him, but I was too busy counting teeth to pay much attention.
'You ought to feed that dog,' I says, absent-minded like. 'He's hungry.'

"'Humph!' says he. 'Well, maybe he'll be fed in a minute. Did you see
those signs?'

"'Yes,' says I; 'I saw 'em. They're real neat and pretty.'

"'Pretty!' He fairly choked, he was so mad. 'Why, you cheeky,
long-legged jay,' he says, 'I'll--What are you crossing this field for?'

"'So's to get to t'other side of it, I guess,' says I. I was riling up a
bit myself. You see, when a feller's been mate of a schooner, like I've
been in my day, it don't come easy to be called names. It looked for a