I was proud to be with them.

Had all my pinching and saving brought me the equivalent of one of the many thrills which had been mine since I came among the oyster pirates?
Then what was worth while--money or thrills?
These men had no horror of squandering a nickel, or many nickels.

They were magnificently careless of money, calling up eight men to drink whisky at ten cents a glass, as French Frank had done.

Why, Nelson had just spent sixty cents on beer for the two of us.
Which was it to be?
I was aware that I was making a grave decision.

I was deciding between money and men, between niggardliness and romance.
Either I must throw overboard all my old values of money and look upon it as something to be flung about wastefully, or I must throw overboard my comradeship with these men whose peculiar quirks made them like strong drink.
I retraced my steps up the wharf to the Last Chance, where Nelson still stood outside.