Naturally, the ships that lined one side of South Street, along which they were strolling, held the greatest interest for them. There were sailing ships from the four quarters of the globe, tramp steamers, coasters from southern ports, interspersed with ferry boats and tug boats of every size and class. There was such a confusion of craft that the boys could scarcely make out one from the other. They had reached a cross street, up which they decided to turn, having learned that it would lead them to Broadway, which thoroughfare they were anxious to see, when there occurred an interruption that changed their plans entirely for the time being. Sam had paused beside a little two-wheeled cart to purchase an apple from an old woman who had asked him to buy. He had just handed over his nickel for the apple when a crowd of firemen from a tramp steamer came rolling up the street, the grime of the stoke hole still on their faces. Freed from the restraint of their floating prison, the men were hilarious and bent on mischief. But neither of the lads observed them, nor did they hear the shouts and songs of the stokers above the roar of the traffic in the busy street. The first intimation the boys had that trouble was abroad was when a hulking stoker let fly a heavily booted foot at the little apple wagon. His aim was true. Up shot the wagon, apples flying in all directions, showering over the heads of the lads and into the muddy gutter. The apple wagon itself turned bottom upward, landing fairly on the head of the aged woman, carrying her down with it, and flattening her in the gutter amid the ruin of her precious wares. Sam wheeled like a flash. The freckles on his now pale face seemed to stand out like scars. Without an instant’s hesitation he let go a fist. It caught the stoker fairly on the side of the jaw. The fellow dropped as if he had been shot, his face burrowing in the mud of the gutter, where he lay motionless for a few seconds. So astonished were his companions that for the moment they stood gaping. Then the humor of the situation seemed to strike them all at once. All hands broke out into a roar of mirth. That a slender lad should have put out one of their number was to them a huge joke. Just as soon as he got over his bewilderment at having been so easily handled by a boy, the stoker got to his feet. He did not immediately follow up his intention of soundly trouncing that forward youngster. This for the very simple reason that the stoker had gone down on his face in the mud. Now he held more than a mouthful of that plastic stuff. Growling, the stoker thrust two fingers of one hand into his mouth, trying to force the sticky mess out. “Fine, isn’t it?” jeered Sam, cocking his head on one side and leering comically. “What?” queried one of the stoker’s own mates, for the one who had just struggled to his feet could not speak.