The more I saw of men, the queerer they became.

Johnny Heinhold leaned across the bar and whispered in my ear, "He's got it in for you.

Watch out." I nodded comprehension of his statement, and acquiescence in it, as a man should nod who knows all about men.

But secretly I was perplexed.
Heavens! How was I, who had worked hard and read books of adventure, and who was only fifteen years old, who had not dreamed of giving the Queen of the Oyster Pirates a second thought, and who did not know that French Frank was madly and Latinly in love with her--how was I to guess that I had done him shame?
And how was I to guess that the story of how the Queen had thrown him down on his own boat, the moment I hove in sight, was already the gleeful gossip of the water-front?
And by the same token, how was I to guess that her brother Pat's offishness with me was anything else than temperamental gloominess of spirit?
Whisky Bob got me aside a moment.

"Keep your eyes open," he muttered.
"Take my tip.