And this failure of his
person in producing an impression affected him strangely. Who could that
old man be?
He was so curious that he even ventured to ask the pilot in a low voice.
The pilot turned out to be a good-natured specimen of his kind,
condescending, sententious. He had been down to his meals in the main
cabin, and had something to impart.
"That? Queer fish--eh? Mrs. Anthony's father. I've been introduced to
him in the cabin at breakfast time. Name of Smith. Wonder if he has all
his wits about him. They take him about with them, it seems. Don't look
very happy--eh?"
Then, changing his tone abruptly, he desired Powell to get all hands on
deck and make sail on the ship. "I shall be leaving you in half an hour.
You'll have plenty of time to find out all about the old gent," he added
with a thick laugh.
* * * * *
In the secret emotion of giving his first order as a fully responsible
officer, young Powell forgot the very existence of that old man in a
moment. The following days, in the interest of getting in touch with the
ship, with the men in her, with his duties, in the rather anxious period
of settling down, his curiosity slumbered; for of course the pilot's few
words had not extinguished it.
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