I spied a brig unloadin' coal at pier No.

47--how well I remembers it! I hailed the mate, an' offered myself for a coal-heaver.

But I wasn't wanted, as he told me civilly enough, which was better treatment than usual.

As I turned off rather glum I was signalled by one of them sleek, smooth-spoken rascals with a white hat an' a weed on it, as is always goin' about the piers a-seekin' who they may devower.
"We sailors know 'em for rascals from stem to starn, but somehow every fresh one fleeces us jest as his mate did afore him.

We don't larn nothin' by exper'ence; we're jest no better than a lot of babys with no brains.
"'Good mornin', my man,' sez the chap, as iley as you please.
"'Mornin', sir,' sez I.
"'Lookin' for a job ?' sez he.
"'Through the big end of a telescope,' sez I--meanin' that the chances for a job looked very small from my pint of view.
"'You're the man for my money,' sez the sharper, smilin' as innocent as a cherubim; 'jest step in here, till we talk it over.' "So I goes with him like a nat'ral-born idiot, into a little grocery-shop near by, where we sets down at a table with a bottle atween us.