Good morrow, sir! Is this here yer ship? She’s lovely, she is. Oh cripes, but where are my manners? Matron would lock me in a dark room for a week, she would. Begging your pardon. They call me Alfred Poorboy, same as everyone in the orphanage, save for Alfred Oneleg and Alfred Watch-Out-He-Bites. Pleased to meet youse!
Say, what do you call this here place? The Port of Miami? I’ve never seen anything like it! Matron never allowed us to leave the orphanage yard, lest we get ideas or learn to read. You wouldn’t happen to have any gruel, would you? I haven’t eaten in six days, since Matron turned me out to make my own way in the world.



