“Jukey ain’t afeard o’ naught,” said a sailor, “I wish as I was ’im.” Night passed. * * * * * A bright sun shone on the ship at anchor. Sails were furled, ropes coiled. From the fore bulwarks, the sailors watched a boat rowed by two men approaching. Jukes sat alone upon the forecastle head. Gazing shoreward, he saw masts and spars, steeples and roofs. Chimneys smoked. Windows glinted. Beyond the town he saw low hills, with treetops blowing. His eyes were hungry. Noticing the approaching boat, Jukes rose to his feet. His teeth clenched, a scowl on his face, he paced to and fro. He looked like a bear come too close to the dwellings of men--suspicious, undetermined, afraid of the world and of himself. Hands extended, eyes a-twinkle, faces beaming, a sailor’s boarding master and his crimp climbed aboard. “Did ye have a good voyage, boys? W’ere are ye from? You’re come to a good port this time!” The boarding master entered the forecastle. Seating himself, looking amicably up to the expectant and childish faces of the sailors, he drew a bottle from his pocket. “The best, boys! I’d never offer ye any but the best.” One of them grasped the bottle. “Don’t swaller it all!” cried one of the sailors. “’Old ’is arm!” another. “’S’all right, boys. There’s plenty more,” grinned the boarding master. The crimp came from the boat, bottles in his pockets. The forecastle reeked of cheap and abominable liquor. Presently one of the sailors asked-- “W’ere’s Jukey?” The crimp left the forecastle, to seek the missing man. “The boys wants you,” said he, discovering Alf Jukes alone upon the forecastle head. He took a bottle from his pocket and held it out to Jukes. Uttering a low coughing grunt, Jukes struck savagely at the crimp. The bottle fell, and broke upon the deck. Cursing Jukes, the crimp beat a hasty retreat. With a half pannikin of unspilled liquor in it, the lower half of the bottle remained upright against the windlass. Alf Jukes looked down. Nostrils quivering, fingers twitching, he uncertainly approached the broken bottle. He stooped, lifted the bottle, and stretched out a hand; as if to hurl it to the water. He hesitated; drew in his hand, and sniffed. Another moment and he flung the emptied fragment over the forecastle rail. “Hey, Jukey! Come on down, ol’ son!” called one of his comrades, looking up from the forecastle. Jukes descended and entered the forecastle. His fellows slapped him on the back. The boarding master thrust a bottle in his hand. As Jukes took it, one of his comrades tried to snatch it from him, and a bellow of laughter rose as the sailor went sprawling on the deck. The bottles passed around. “No more ships for me,” said one. “Nor me, boys,” said another. Jukes drank silently.