This was just one of his unlucky days from the moment when he heard of Randulf's absence. Nothing had satisfied him, either at the club, at the office, or at his warehouse; although there was absolutely nothing to complain of in the management of his affairs during his absence.
The people in his employ had, in fact, deserved much more praise than he had vouchsafed to them.
Grumbling and dispirited, he traversed the well-kept rooms. The sun was low in the north-west, and in the sunset glow he could distinguish the Hope's top-gallant yards over the point of land that separated the harbour from Sandsgaard Bay.
Nothing, however, could cheer him up. Moreover, after a while he bethought him how old Harbour-master Snell had led him aside into a corner at the club, and had whispered, as he laid his finger to his long red nose; "Pop—pop—Jacob, it was about time that you brought the old one some cash; they say—pop—pop—that he is in want of it just now."
"What in the world did he mean?" thought Skipper Worse, as he recalled the conversation. "Does the old swindler think to persuade me that C. F. Garman is in want of cash?"
"What do you want, Lauritz!" cried he suddenly, seeing the lad at the door.
"Nothing, captain," said Lauritz, meekly, going out again.
But Worse following him, caught him in the passage, and pulled him back into the room.
That Lauritz did not want anything was true; but when in his sorrow and despondency he saw the captain, who had always been so good to him, passing the window to and fro, he ventured to approach him on the chance of meeting with some comfort.
Worse gripped him by the neck and looked at him.