When the wheezy little mail-boat rounded the Liar’s Tombstone—that gray, immobile head, forever dwelling upon its forgotten tragedy—she “opened” Skeleton Tickle; and this was where the fool was born, and where he lived his life, such as it was, and, in the end, gave it up in uttermost disgust. It was a wretched Newfoundland settlement of the remoter parts, isolated on a stretch of naked coast, itself lying unappreciatively snug beside sheltered water: being but a congregation of stark white cottages and turf huts, builded at haphazard, each aloof from its despairing neighbor, all sticking like lean incrustations to the bare brown hills—habitations of men, to be sure, which elsewhere had surely relieved the besetting dreariness with the grace and color of life, but in this place did not move the gray, unsmiling prospect of rock and water. The day was clammy: a thin, pervasive fog had drenched the whole world, now damp to the touch, dripping to the sight; the wind, out of temper with itself, blew cold and viciously, fretting the sea to a swishing lop, in which the harbor punts, anchored for the day’s fishing in the shallows over Lost Men grounds, were tossed and flung about in a fashion vastly nauseating to the beholder.... Poor devils of men and boys! Toil for them, dawn to dark; with every reward of labor—love and all the delights of life—changed by the unhappy lot: turned sordid, cheerless, bestial.... * * * * * “Ha!” interrupted my chance acquaintance, leaning upon the rail with me. “I am ver’ good business man. Eh? You not theenk?” There was a saucy challenge in this; it left no escape by way of bored credulity; no man of proper feeling could accept the boast of this ingratiating, frowsy, yellow-eyed Syrian peddler. “Ha!” he proceeded. “You not theenk, eh? But I have tell you—I—myself! I am thee bes’ business man in Newf’un’lan’.” He threw back his head; regarded me with pride and mystery, eyes half closed. “No? Come, I tell you! I am thee _mos’_ bes’ business man in Newf’un’lan’. Eh? Not so? Ay, I am thee ver’ mos’ bes’ business man in all thee worl’. I—Tanous Shiva—I—_I_!” He struck his breast. “I have be thee man. An’ thee mos’ fool—thee mos’ beeg fool—thee mos’ fearful beeg fool in all thee worl’ leeve there. Ay, zur; he have leeve there—dead ahead—t’ Skeleton Teekle. You not theenk? Ha! I tell you—I tell you now—a mos’ won-dair-ful fun-ee t’ing. You hark? Ver’ well. Ha!” he exclaimed, clasping his hands in an ecstasy of delight. “How you will have laugh w’en I tell!” He sobered. “I am now,” he said, solemnly, “be-geen. You hark?” I nodded.