What? Give him my money for safekeeping? Of course. There was a code
of honor even in crimpdom, you know. I came to the Swede's house of my
own choosing; no runner of his snared me out of a ship. Therefore I
would be permitted to spend the last dollar of my pay-day, chiefly over
his bar, of course, and when the money was gone, he would ship me in a
ship of my own choosing. Unless, of course, men were exceptionally
scarce, and blood money exceptionally high. Crimpdom honor wouldn't
stand much temptation. But I was confident of my ability to look after
myself. I was a man of nineteen, you know.

So, at the Knitting Swede's I was lodged. I spent most of my first day
there in examining and getting acquainted with my fellow lodgers. Aye,
they were a crowd, quite in keeping with the repute of the house; hard
living, hard swearing, hard fighting A.B.'s, for the most part; the
unruly toughs of the five oceans. I swaggered amongst them and thought
myself a very devil of a fellow. I bought them drinks at the Swede's
bar, and listened with immense satisfaction to their loud comments on
my generosity. It was, "He's a fine lad, and no mistake!" and, "He's a
real proper bloke, for certain!" And I ordered up the rounds, and
swung my shoulders, and felt like a "real proper bloke" indeed.

Well, I saw one chap in the house who really attracted me. I should
liked to have chummed with him, and I went out of my way to be friendly
towards him. He was a regular giant of a man, with yellow hair and
frosty eyes, and a very white face. In fact he looked as if he might
have recently been sick, though his huge, muscular frame showed no
effects of an illness. He had a jagged, bluish scar over one eye,
which traveled up his forehead and disappeared beneath his hair,
plainly the result of some terrible clout. But it was not these
things, not his face or size which drew me to him; it was his bearing.

All of the chaps in Swede Olson's house were hard cases. They boasted
of their hardness. But their hardness was the typical tough's
hardness, nine parts bravado, a savagery not difficult to subdue with
an oak belaying pin in the fist of a bucko mate. But the hardness of
this big, scar-faced man was of a different sort. You sensed,
immediately you looked at him, that he possessed a steely armor of
indifference that penetrated to his very heart. He was a real hard
case, a proper nut, a fellow who simply did not care what happene