J. Archibald McKackney
that the whiskers of the seafaring members of the orchestra surpassed the others in musical qualities. I explained this on the ground that they had been exposed to strong winds and rain and sun until they were toned and seasoned to an uncommon degree—but I am wandering from my story.
Wilkins first capture, it seems, was made as he was nearing a saloon where, in other days, he had consorted with the sailormen of Boston. Sighting an old shipmate, Peter O'Dwyer by name, my assistant was delighted to note that he had grown a set of whiskers "that would caulk a ship's yawl." Consulting his chart Wilkins saw at once that the whiskers looked very much like "Number Thirteen (Middle Octave), medium length, square cut, bushy growth."
He overhauled O'Dwyer and over a table in the back room of the tavern renewed a briny friendship. Wilkins began to glimpse the troubles that threatened to beset him when O'Dwyer was moved to ask:
"You're lookin' at me kind of cock-
