“When I was a boy.”

“What kin ye do?”

“I’m a good derrick man and been four years with a coaler.”

“You want steady work, I suppose.”

The stranger nodded.

“Well, I ain’t got it.  Gov’ment app’ints our men.  This is a Life-Saving Station.”

The stranger stood twisting his cap.  The first statement seemed to make but little impression on him; the second aroused a keener interest.

“Yes, I know.  Just new built, ain’t it? and you just put in charge?  Captain Nathaniel Holt’s your name—­am I right?”

“Yes, you’re just right.”  And the captain, dismissing the man and the incident from his mind, turned on his heel, walked the length of the narrow porch and stood scanning the sky and the blurred horizon line.  The twilight was now deepening and a red glow shimmered through the settling fog.

“Fogarty!” cried the captain, beckoning over his shoulder with his head.

Tod stepped up and stood at attention; as quick in reply as if two steel springs were fastened to his heels.

“Looks rather soapy, Fogarty.  May come on thick.  Better take a turn to the inlet and see if that yawl is in order.  We might have to cross it to-night.  We can’t count on this weather.  When you meet Green send him back here.  That shot-line wants overhaulin’.”  Here the captain hesitated and looked intently at the stranger.  “And here, you Swede,” he called in a louder tone of command, “you go ’long and lend a hand, and when you come back I’ll have some supper for ye.”

One of Tod’s springs must have slid under the Swede’s shoes.  Either the prospect of a meal or of having a companion to whom he could lend a hand—­ nothing so desolate as a man out of work—­a stranger at that—­had put new life into his hitherto lethargic body.

“This way,” said Tod, striding out toward the surf.

The Swede hurried to his side and the two crossed the boat runway, ploughed through the soft drift of the dune, and striking the hard, wet sand of the beach, headed for the inlet.  Tod having his high, waterproof boots on, tramped along the edge of the incoming surf, the half-circles of suds swashing past his feet and spreading themselves up the slope.  The sand was wet here and harder on that account, and the walking better.  The Swede took the inside course nearer the shore.  Soon Tod began to realize that the interest the captain had shown in the unknown man and the brief order admitting him for a time to membership in the crew placed the stranger on a different footing.  He was, so to speak, a comrade and, therefore, entitled to a little more courtesy.  This clear in his mind, he allowed his tongue more freedom; not that he had any additional interest in the man—­he only meant to be polite.

“What you been workin’ at?” he asked, kicking an empty tin can that the tide had rolled within his reach.  Work is the universal topic; the weather is too serious a subject to chatter about lightly.