12' A YEAR WITH A WHALER 



going to sea, but that small " ad." laid its spell 

 upon my imagination. It was big with the lure 

 of strange lands and climes, romance and fresh 

 experiences. What did it matter that I had 

 passed all my humdrum days on dry land? " No 

 experience necessary!" There were the magic 

 words staring me in the face. I gulped down 

 my eggs and coffee and was off for the street 

 called Washington. 



Levy's was a ship's outfitting store. A " run- 

 ner "for the house — a hulking man with crafty 

 eyes and a face almost as red as his hair and 

 mustache — met me as I stepped in the door. He 

 looked me over critically. His visual inventory 

 must have been satisfactory. I was young. 



" Ever been a sailor? " he asked. 



" No." 



"Makes no difference. Can you pull an 

 oar?" 

 "Yes." 



" You'll do. Hang around the store to-day 

 and I'll see what vessels are shipping crews." 



That was all. I was a potential whaler from 

 that minute. 



