Special Business of a Passenger

A ponderous man came stumping down the sidewalk, swinging his shoulders.

"He's one of 'em," decided Mayo. The round-crowned soft hat, undented,
the flapping trouser legs, the gait recognized readily by one who has
ever seen a master mariner patrol his quarter-deck--all these marked him
as a safe man to tackle. He stopped, dragged a match against the brick
side of a building, and relighted his cigar. But before Mayo could reach
him a colored man hurried up and accosted the big gentleman, whipping
off his hat and bowing with smug humility. Mayo hung up at a little
distance. He recognized the colored man; he was one of the numerous
Norfolk runners who furnish crews for vessels. He wore pearl-gray
trousers, a tailed coat, and had a pink in his buttonhole.

"Ah done have to say that ah doan' get that number seven man up to now,
Cap'n Downs, though I have squitulate for him all up and down. But ah
done expect--"

Captain Downs scowled over his scooped hands, puffing hard at his cigar.
He threw away the match.

"Look-a-here! you've been chasing me two days with new stories about
that seventh man. Haven't you known me long enough to know that you
can't trim me for another fee?"

"Cap'n Downs, you done know yo'self the present lucidateness of the
sailorman supply."

"I know that if you don't get that man aboard my schooner to-night or
the first thing to-morrow morning you'll never put another one aboard
for me. You go hustle! And look here! I see you making up your mouth!
Not another cent!"