One night Frederick was introduced to a sailor who appeared to be well known to the group. The older ones, standing round, studied the two young men talking together. Then Daddy Ben said briefly, “It will do!” After that Frederick spent every moment away from his work in the sailor’s company. They leaned over bars in crowded saloons off Lower Broadway and swapped talk with old salts who had not yet recovered their land legs. They swore at the fresh young landlubber, but his friend, laughing heartily, warded off their blows. On the last Sunday in August, as was his custom, Frederick reported with his three dollars. “I’m taking Mrs. Auld to the country over next Sunday,” Mr. Auld said. “This awful heat is bad for her. Come in next Monday.” Frederick knew the time had come. He reported at each place punctually that week. He took every extra job he could find. Sunday evening he slipped into the little garden behind the house on South Carolina Street. Anna was waiting. “Take care! Oh, take care!” she whispered. “You’ll be getting a letter from up North--soon!” he boasted. The next morning the Philadelphia train was puffing into the Baltimore and Ohio station when a swaggering young sailor strode across the platform. Several Negro passengers stood in a huddled group to one side. All had passed their examinations. The impatient young sailor did not join them. His bell-bottom trousers flopped about his legs, the black cravat fastened loosely about his neck was awry, and he pushed his tarpaulin hat back on his head, as he peered anxiously up the street. The conductor had yelled “All aboard!” when a ramshackle old hack drew up. The sailor ran to it, flung open the door before the stupid old hackman could move, and grabbed a big, battered bag, plastered with many labels and tied with strong hemp. “Damn you!” cursed the sailor, “yo’ makin’ me miss ma ship!” He sprinted for the last car of the train, leaving the blinking old hackman unpaid. The conductor laughed. The train was well on the way to Havre de Grace before the conductor reached the last car to collect tickets and look over the colored folks’ papers. This was rather perfunctory, since he knew they had all been examined at the station. He chuckled as he spied the sailor slumped in a back seat, already fast asleep. Bet he’d made a night of it--several nights, no doubt! Probably overstayed his time and knew the brig irons were waiting for him. _Oh, well, niggers don’t care._ So long as they had their whiskey and women! He shook the sailor playfully. Frederick stared up at him, blinking. “All right, sailor boy, your ticket!” “Yes, _suh_.” Frederick fumbled in his blouse, producing a not too clean bit of cardboard. He appeared to be groggy. “I reckon you got your free papers?” The fellow showed the whites of his eyes. He shook his head. “No, suh. Ah nevah carries mah papahs to sea wid me.” “But you do have something to show you’re a free man, haven’t you?” The sailor’s face beamed.