ence I have now!" a man said in my hearing the other day.
"What an insufferable prig you'd be," replied the other.
I suppose we all should be "insufferable prigs" under those conditions.
Bah! what is the use of youth if we are all to be wise before our time! Of what use the hot blood—the light heart—and the little-thinking lighter head! It is all very well to speculate on what we should have gained—but just think, for one moment, what we should have lost! Think of a sturdy young life tempered with the limpness of age! Think of it! Impulse without the "Imp" or the "pulse"! And where the deuce would youth be, especially without the "Imp"!
But heavens! why am I moralizing (or immoralizing perhaps would be the better word) when my pint of beer is losing its head and my square meal getting cold!
Work-a-day, toiling Sydney passed and repassed the little "pub" where I sat overlooking the glorious harbor, but it all meant nothing to me. My mind was centered on the schooner and her captain. I longed for the night to pass and noon tomorrow to come. I longed to go down to the shipping office, sign on, and go aboard.
"Got a ship, sonny?" said the old woman who owned the weatherboard cottage where half a dozen of us pigged together.
She saw me cramming the few things I had into a canvas bag. Poor old soul! she was a real good sort. Why she ever trusted any of us for a penny God only knows; but she did, and I don't think any of us sold her.
There was a story of a man once who had, but, as she said, "he come from furrin parts," and the story didn't end well for the "Dutchman." Everyone who isn't a Dago is a Dutchman at sea, if he doesn't happen to be English or a Yank.
