He swung along right cheerily, his rags fluttering, his chin in the air, for the wind had settled in one direction, and the weather-vane and Sandy had both made up their minds.
The sailor looked after him fondly.

"He's a bloomin' good little chap," he said to a man near by.

"Carries a civil tongue in his head for everybody." The man grunted.

"He's too off and on," he said.

"He'll never come to naught." Two days later, the _America_, cutting her way across the Atlantic, carried one more passenger than she registered.