Ike and Ginger, his patron, turned to watch the Sailor go. Neither spoke, but with eyes that glowed in the gray light of the morning like those of a couple of healthy basilisks, they marked all that the young man did. The Sailor walked into the middle of the road to the point where four arteries of traffic met, and then hesitation overcame him as to what he should do next. For a little while, he stood looking up one street and down another with an expression of bewilderment upon his face. "So long," said Ginger to Ike. The proprietor of the stall had now none to share his thoughts. He saw Ginger, assured but wary, saunter up to the Sailor as he stood at gaze; saw him touch the young man on the shoulder as if by chance rather than design; saw him speak words which, bend across the counter as he might, he was too far away to catch. "Lookin' for anything?" were the words that Ginger spoke. Moreover, he spoke them blandly, yet with such a subdued air that he might have been talking in his sleep. The Sailor, whose eyes were far away in the gray mists of the morning, was looking for nothing, it seemed. "Which way you goin'?" asked Ginger, in the same tone of mild somnambulism. "Dunno," said the Sailor, his eyes farther away than ever. "Don't know," repeated Ginger. At this point, he ventured to look very hard and straight into the face of the Sailor. His knowledge of the human race was pretty considerable for one of his years, and there was something about the wearer of the fur cap that interested him. The face under it was fine-drawn, much tanned by the weather, open as the sky. Ginger then flung an expert's eye over the lean length of blue jersey which surmounted a grotesque pair of leggings. "You don't know," said Ginger. "Well, suppose you walk as far as the docks?" The Sailor didn't seem to mind. "Been long at sea?" inquired Ginger, as with intimate local knowledge he piloted the young man through a series of short cuts. "Six year." "Have ye so!" Ginger was surprised and impressed. "Like it?" The eyes of the Sailor looked straight down into those of Ginger. But he didn't say anything. "You didn't like it?" "No." "Why did you stick it, then?" "Dunno." The conversation languished a moment, but Ginger's curiosity was increasing. "Still foller the sea?" "No." "What's yer job?" "Ain't got one." Ginger stroked a resolute jaw. "Lookin' for a billet?" "Yep." "Ashore?" The Sailor nodded. "Better come with me, then," said Ginger, with an air of decision. "Dare say we can fix you at our shop. Fifteen bob a week ... fifteen bob and a tizzey ... if you leave it ter me." The heart of the Sailor leaped under his jersey. This was big money as money was understood aboard the _Margaret Carey_.