carried, in lieu of argument; but with the exception of Billy

the men all had served before the mast in the past, so that

ship's discipline was to some extent ingrained in them all.

Enjoying his work, the life was not an unpleasant one

for the mucker. The men of the forecastle were of the kind

he had always known--there was no honor among them, no

virtue, no kindliness, no decency. With them Billy was at

home--he scarcely missed the old gang. He made his

friends among them, and his enemies. He picked quarrels,

as had been his way since childhood. His science and his

great strength, together with his endless stock of underhand

tricks brought him out of each encounter with fresh laurels.

Presently he found it difficult to pick a fight--his messmates

had had enough of him. They left him severely alone.

These ofttimes bloody battles engendered no deep-seated

hatred in the hearts of the defeated. They were part of

the day's work and play of the half-brutes that Skipper

Simms had gathered together. There was only one man

aboard whom Billy really hated. That was the passenger,

and Billy hated him, not because of anything that the man

had said or done to Billy, for he had never even so much

as spoken to the mucker, but because of the fine clothes and

superior air which marked him plainly to Billy as one of that

loathed element of society--a gentleman.

Billy hated everything that was respectable. He had hated

the smug, self-satisfied merchants of Grand Avenue. He had

writhed in torture at the sight of every shiny, purring automobile

that had ever passed him with its load of well-groomed

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