And Spider sang: "Oh, it's Lulu, black Lulu, my darling, Oh, it's where have you been so long?
Been layin' in jail, A-waitin' for bail, Till my bully comes rollin' along." There it was, the smack and slap of the spirit of revolt, of adventure, of romance, of the things forbidden and done defiantly and grandly.

And I knew that on the morrow I would not go back to my machine at the cannery.

To-morrow I would be an oyster pirate, as free a freebooter as the century and the waters of San Francisco Bay would permit.

Spider had already agreed to sail with me as my crew of one, and, also, as cook while I did the deck work.

We would outfit our grub and water in the morning, hoist the big mainsail (which was a bigger piece of canvas than any I had ever sailed under), and beat our way out the estuary on the first of the seabreeze and the last of the ebb.