"There was always a tale about Falmouth that Cap'n Danny had struck a buried treasure," said Mr. Goodfellow. "'Twas a joke in the publics, and with the street boys; but I never heard tell till now that any one took it serious."
"He was learning navigation," mused Miss Belcher. "What was the name of his teacher?"
"A Captain Branscome, ma'am. He's a teacher at Stimcoe's."
"Lives in the house, does he?"
"No, ma'am."
"A Captain Branscome, you say?"
"Yes, ma'am. He's a retired packet captain, and lame of one leg. Every one in Falmouth knows Captain Branscome."
"H'm! Wouldn't this Captain Branscome wonder a little that a man of your friend's age, and (we'll say) a bit wrong in his head, should want to learn navigation?"
"He might, ma'am."
"He certainly would," snapped Miss Belcher. "And wouldn't this Captain Branscome know it was perfectly useless to teach such a man?"