h at the
bottom of the cliffs. And you gone in haste, without a word. They
said she jumped--desertion, despair, you know what they would make of
it. The gossip--and Abel Horn's tale--and you running away to sea.

"And I--my flesh would creep when I looked at him. I was certain
she--didn't jump. I tell you he was a devil. There wasn't anything he
wouldn't do. He didn't have such a feeling as mercy. Didn't I find it
out? He wanted to get rid of me--and he did. Before the week was out;
before Beulah was fairly buried, before Mary was outdoors again. He
showed those checks I had signed--and I had to go, I had to go far and
in a hurry. After all I had done for him, that's the way he treated
me."

There was a movement of chairs in the next room, and a scraping of
feet. There was more talk, Newman's heavy murmur, and responding
whines. But I do not remember what else was said. In fact, although I
have given you Beasley's tale in straight-forward fashion, I did not
overhear it as I tell it. I caught it in snatches, so to speak, rather
disconnected snatches which I pieced together afterwards. I heard this
fellow, Beasley, talk while lying drowsing on the bed, and not trying
particularly to understand his words. In fact, I did drop off to
sleep. First thing I knew, the Knitting Swede was shaking me awake.
"Yump out of it, Yackie," says he. "We go aboard."

I turned out, shouldered my sea-bag, and went downstairs. There was
Newman, with his dunnage, waiting. He was alone. There was no sign of
my beggar about. In fact, I never saw him again. Newman's face didn't
invite questions.

As a matter of fact, I didn't even think of asking him questions. I
had forgotten Beasley; I was worrying about myself. Now that the hour
had come to join the ship, I wasn't feeling quite so carefree and
chesty. I went into the bar, and poured Dutch courage into myself,
until the Knitting Swede was ready to leave.

We rode down to the dock in a hack. I was considerably elated when the
vehicle drew up before the door; It is not every sailorman who rides
down to the dock in a hack, you bet! The Swede was spreading himself
to give us a grand send-off, I thought! But I changed my mind when we
started. The hack was on Newman's account, solely; and he made a quick
dash from the door to its shelter, with his face concealed by cap and
pea-coat collar. He didn't want to be seen in the streets--that is why
we rode in the hack