This plan might be adopted with advantage to the
community even at the present time.
In these sailor circles there was once a well-known
incorrigible named Jimmie Hall, a native of Blyth, who for
the most part sailed out of London on long voyages. It did
not matter how long Jimmie had been away on a voyage, or how
much pay he had to take, he was never longer than a week in
funds, and more frequently only one or two days. This
half-tamed creature was walking up Ratcliffe Highway one
winter morning between two and three o'clock, and he met an
old shipmate of his. They greeted each other with some
warmth. Jimmie's friend related to him a tale of
destitution. He had been on the spree, spent all his money,
and two days before had been turned out of the boarding
house, and had slept out for two nights. Jimmie, with
sailor-like generosity, said, "I am glad to have met you.
It gives me an opportunity of asking you to share with me
rooms at my hotel."
"Hotel!" gasped the bewildered shipmate. "Have you had money
left you? You always were a good sort."
"No," said his companion; "I have had no money left me, but
I thought I would stay in an hotel this time.
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