"Pish!" says he, "nothing—put it back!"
It was a page of my copy-book, when I used to take lessons with Rebecca. Replacing paper and glove, I closed up the sailor lad's coat.
"Search his cap and moccasins!"
I was mighty thankful, as you may guess, that other hands than mine found the tell-tale missive—a badly writ letter addressed to "Captain Zechariah Gillium."
Tearing it open, M. Radisson read with stormy lights agleam in his eyes.
"Sir, this sailor lad is an old comrade," I pleaded.
"Then'a God's name take care of him," he flashed out.
But long before I had Jack Battle thawed back to consciousness in my own quarters, Jean came running with orders for me to report to M. Radisson.
"I'll take care of the sailor for you," proffered Jean.
And I hastened to the main hall.