CHAPTER III.
JACKSON'S ARM.
Little did I dream the fateful part Jackson's arm was to play in my life.

Jackson himself did not impress me when I hunted him out.

I found him in a crazy, ramshackle* house down near the bay on the edge of the marsh.

Pools of stagnant water stood around the house, their surfaces covered with a green and putrid-looking scum, while the stench that arose from them was intolerable.
* An adjective descriptive of ruined and dilapidated houses in which great numbers of the working people found shelter in those days.

They invariably paid rent, and, considering the value of such houses, enormous rent, to the landlords.
I found Jackson the meek and lowly man he had been described.