Nevertheless, we watched the coming in of the long-boat with considerable interest.
As it drew near, the figure of the man pulling the bow-oar seemed oddly familiar to me.

Where could I have seen him before?
When and where?
His back was towards me, but there was something about that closely cropped head that I recognized instantly.
"Way enough!" cried the steersman, and all the oars stood upright in the air.

The man in the bow seized the boat-hook, and, turning round quickly, showed me the honest face of Sailor Ben of the Typhoon.
"It's Sailor Ben!" I cried, nearly pushing Pepper Whitcomb overboard in my excitement.
Sailor Ben, with the wonderful pink lady on his arm, and the ships and stars and anchors tattooed all over him, was a well-known hero among my playmates.

And there he was, like something in a dream come true! I didn't wait for my old acquaintance to get firmly on the wharf, before I grasped his hand in both of mine.
"Sailor Ben, don't you remember me ?" He evidently did not.

He shifted his quid from one cheek to the other, and looked at me meditatively.
"Lord love ye, lad, I don't know you.