* * * * *
South Street ... here were ships ... great tall fellows, their masts
dizzy things to look up at.
I came to a pier where two three-masted barks lay, one on either side.
First I turned to the one on the right because I saw two men up aloft.
And there was a boy passing down the deck, carrying a pot of coffee aft.
I could smell the good aroma of that coffee. Ever since, the smell of
coffee makes me wish to set out on a trip somewhere.
"Hey, Jimmy," I shouted to the boy.
"Hey, yourself!" he replied, coming belligerently to the side. Then,
"what do ye want?"
"To go to sea. Do you need anybody aboard for the voyage?"
He looked scornfully at me, as I stood there, skinny, shadow-thin.
"You go to hell!" he cried. Then he resumed his way to the cabin,
whistling.
The ship opposite, I inspected her next. It was grand with the
figurehead of a long, wooden lady leaning out obliquely with
ever-staring eyes, her hands crossed over her breasts.
Aboard I went, down the solitude of the deck. I stopped at the cook's
galley. I had gone there because I had seen smoke coming out of the
little crooked pipe that stood akimbo.
I looked in at the door. A dim figure developed within, moving about
among pots and pans. It was the cook, I could tell by the white cap he
wore ... an old, very old man. He wore a sleeveless shirt.
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