According to a report from the wharf, that lad could use a warm blanket and a hot cup of soup because, Christ’s sake, look at him, he’s damn near hypothermic.

“That boy, workin’ his tail off out freezing cold, not a coat or nothin’ on him,” said the boy’s bunkmate Cecil Druthers. “I ain’t seen him complain but once, a real tough one he is. F’it weren’t for me and the lads, he’d be minglin’ with old Jack Frost b’now.”

“Didn’t utter a peep,” said Druthers as he shook his head and took another gulp of whiskey. “Just wrapped himself up, stared off into the distance n’shivered. Real troubling sight it were. Cold’ll take hold of a man, faster’n a squall off the starboard rail.”

At press time, Druthers managed a nasty broken leg with a stiff drink and a punch in the face.

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