3

One evening, in a water-front saloon, Captain Sproule and another man—­a fellow who was a shipper of freight, as I remember—­spent an hour or so with two women whose bad language and painted faces would have told their story to any older person; but to me they were just acquaintances of the captain, and that was all.  After a while the four left the saloon together, and I followed, as I followed the captain everywhere.

“That young one had better be sent to bed,” said the captain’s friend, pointing to me.

“Better go back to the boat, Jake,” said the captain, laughing in a tipsy sort of way.

“I don’t know where it is,” said I; “it’s been towed off somewhere.”

“That’s so,” said the captain, “I’ve got to hunt it up myself—­or stay all night in a tavern.  Wal, come along.  I’ll be going home early.”

The other man gave a sort of sarcastic laugh.  “Bring up your boys as you like, Cap’n,” said he.  “He’ll come to it anyhow in a year or so by himself, I guess.”

“I’m going home early,” said the captain.

“Course you be,” said the woman, seizing the captain’s arm.  “Come on, Bubby!”

There were more drinks where we went, and other women like those in our party.  I could not understand why they behaved in so wild and immodest a manner, but thought dimly that it was the liquor.  In the meantime I grew very sleepy, being worn out by a day of excitement and wonder; and sitting down in a corner of the room, I lopped over on the soft carpet and went to sleep.  The last I heard was the sound of an accordion played by a negro who had been invited in, and the scuff of feet as they danced, with loud and broken speech, much of which was quite blind to me.  Anyhow, I lost myself for a long time, as I felt, when some one shook me gently by the shoulder and woke me up.  I thought I was at home, in my attic bed, and that it was my mother awakening me to go to work in the factory.

“Ma,” I said.  “Is that you, ma!”

A woman was bending over me, her breasts almost falling from the low-cut red dress she wore.  She was painted and powdered like the rest, and her face looked drawn and pale over her scarlet gown.  As I pronounced the name I always called my mother, I seem to remember that her expression changed from the wild and reckless look I was becoming used to, to something like what I had always seen in my mother’s eyes.

“Who you driving for, Johnny?” she asked.

“Captain Sproule,” said I.  “Where is he?” For on looking about I saw that there was no one there but this woman and myself.

“He’ll be back after a while,” said she.  “Poor young one!  Come with me and get a good sleep.”

I was numb with sleep, and staggered when I stood up; and she put her arm around me as we moved toward the door, where we were met by two men, canallers or sailors, by their looks, who stopped her with drunken greetings.