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On his return Dan blazed out at him: "Boot-lickin' Neville ag'in, was you? I'd lay you out, you shrimp, only I want you to do your work." Larry took up his shovel; as usual his silence enraged Sullivan. "You chicken-livered wharf-rat, ain't you got no spunk to answer wid?" Dan jerked a slice-bar from the fire and hurled it to the floor at Larry's feet.
But the Queen of the Oyster Pirates was looking at me, a part-emptied glass in her own hand. I had my pride. If I was only fifteen, at least I could not show myself any less a man than she. Besides, there were her sister, and Mrs. Hadley, and the young oyster pirate, and the whiskered wharf-rat, all with glasses in their hands. Was I a milk-and-water sop?
With an instinct not unlike that which drives the hiding wharf-rat into the deepest corner at hand, he made his way down through the body of the ship. He shambled and skulked his way down, a hatless and ragged and uncouth figure, wandering on along gloomy gangways and corridors until he found himself on the threshold of the engine-room itself.
And in the meantime I must come below and meet his friends. They were two sisters, Mamie and Tess; a Mrs. Hadley, who chaperoned them; "Whisky" Bob, a youthful oyster pirate of sixteen; and "Spider" Healey, a black-whiskered wharf-rat of twenty. Mamie, who was Spider's niece, was called the Queen of the Oyster Pirates, and, on occasion, presided at their revels.
"You know," he said, "there are no better people in the world than some of those New England seafaring families. The Merrithews, I believe, were very substantial. . . . So you see where your supposed wharf-rat acquired the manner which you marked in him, and his good English, and and well, whatever else you marked." "What is he going to do now?" asked Mrs. Van Vleck. "Oh, of course, the Tampico.
Cobb's rich human studies of American life. This series of stories about a little New York wharf-rat which Mr. Connolly has reprinted from Collier's Weekly are less important than the admirable stories of the Gloucester fishermen which first made his reputation.
The Chief, to whom God had denied a son of his flesh, had taken Red Un to his heart, you see fatherless wharf-rat and childless engineer; the man acting on the dour Scot principle of chastening whomsoever he loveth, and the boy cherishing a hate that was really only hurt love.
"You must jump off first of all, for there's a boy aboard that will beat you if he can. No pay if you don't win." "Which is the one that'll run ag'in' me?" asked the long-legged fellow. Gray described Jack, and told the young man to go out forward and he would see him. Gray was not willing to be seen with the "wharf-rat," lest suspicions should be awakened in Jack Dudley's mind.
"The Colonel also stated further, that he had testimony to contradict that Adjutant, or Wharf-Rat, as you know him best by. He had told me before the trial to tell that young law student, Tom, a private of Co. C, who heard the conversation that the Adjutant had testified to, to be within calling distance during the trial, with his belt on, hair combed, and looking as neat as possible.
You know the water front, where you can hear more tongues than at Port Said, see stranger sights, and meet adventure with the joyous certainty of mediaeval times. I'd been down there hunting up a man reported, by a wharf-rat of my acquaintance, to have just returned from a two years' whaling voyage. He'd been "shanghaied" aboard, and as a matter of fact, was worth nearly a million dollars.
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