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I locked up agin, and ‘ad another look at the dock. The water ‘ad nearly gone and the mud was showing in patches. My mind went back to a sailorman wot had dropped ‘is watch over-board two years before, and found it by walking about in the dock in ‘is bare feet. He found it more easy because the glass broke when he trod on it.

The evening was a trifle chilly for June, but I’ve been used to roughing it all my life, especially when I was afloat, and I went into the office and began to take my clothes off. I took off everything but my pants, and I made sure o’ them by making braces for ’em out of a bit of string. Then I turned the gas low, and, arter slipping on my boots, went outside.

It was so cold that at fust I thought I’d give up the idea. The longer I stood on the edge looking at the mud the colder it looked, but at last I turned round and went slowly down the ladder. I waited a moment at the bottom, and was just going to step off when I remembered that I ‘ad got my boots on, and I ‘ad to go up agin and take ’em off.

I went down very slow the next time, and anybody who ‘as been down an iron ladder with thin, cold rungs, in their bare feet, will know why, and I had just dipped my left foot in, when the wharf-bell rang.

I ‘oped at fust that it was a runaway-ring, but it kept on, and the longer it kept on, the worse it got. I went up that ladder agin and called out that I was coming, and then I went into the office and just slipped on my coat and trousers and went to the gate.

“Wot d’you want?” I ses, opening the wicket three or four inches and looking out at a man wot was standing there.

“Are you old Bill?” he ses.

“I’m the watchman,” I ses, sharp-like. “Wot d’you want?”

“Don’t bite me!” he ses, purtending to draw back. “I ain’t done no ‘arm. I’ve come round about that glass you smashed at the Bear’s Head.”

“Glass!” I ses, ‘ardly able to speak.

“Yes, glass,” he ses–“thing wot yer drink out of. The landlord says it’ll cost you a tanner, and ‘e wants it now in case you pass away in your sleep. He couldn’t come ‘imself cos he’s got nobody to mind the bar, so ‘e sent me. Why! Halloa! Where’s your boots? Ain’t you afraid o’ ketching cold?”

“You clear off,” I ses, shouting at him. “D’ye ‘ear me? Clear off while you’re safe, and you tell the landlord that next time ‘e insults me I’ll smash every glass in ‘is place and then sit ‘im on top of ‘cm! Tell ‘im if ‘e wants a tanner out o’ me, to come round ‘imself, and see wot he gets.”

It was a silly thing to say, and I saw it arterwards, but I was in such a temper I ‘ardly knew wot I was saying. I slammed the wicket in ‘is face and turned the key and then I took off my clothes and went down that ladder agin.

It seemed colder than ever, and the mud when I got fairly into it was worse than I thought it could ha’ been. It stuck to me like glue, and every step I took seemed colder than the one before. ‘Owever, when I make up my mind to do a thing, I do it. I fixed my eyes on the place where I thought the purse was, and every time I felt anything under my foot I reached down and picked it up–and then chucked it away as far as I could so as not to pick it up agin. Dirty job it was, too, and in five minutes I was mud up to the neck, a’most. And I ‘ad just got to wot I thought was the right place, and feeling about very careful, when the bell rang agin.