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. He was
making some sort of rattan-work, and he toiled on stolidly while I
talked with him. But in spite of his meekness and lowliness, I fancied I
caught the first note of a nascent bitterness in him when he said:

"They might a-given me a job as watchman,* anyway."

* In those days thievery was incredibly prevalent.
Everybody stole property from everybody else. The lords of
society stole legally or else legalized their stealing,
while the poorer classes stole illegally. Nothing was safe