“What are you up to, now?” asks Mr. George, pausing with a frown in stroking the recollection of his moustache. “What captain?”
“Our captain. The captain we know of. Captain Hawdon.”
“Oh! That’s it, is it?” says Mr. George with a low whistle as he sees both grandfather and granddaughter looking hard at him. “You are there! Well? What about it? Come, I won’t be smothered any more. Speak!”
“My dear friend,” returns the old man, “I was applied—Judy, shake me up a little!—I was applied to yesterday about the captain, and my opinion still is that the captain is not dead.”
“Bosh!” observes Mr. George.
“What was your remark, my dear friend?” inquires the old man with his hand to his ear.
“Bosh!”
“Ho!” says Grandfather Smallweed. “Mr. George, of my opinion you can judge for yourself according to the questions asked of me and the reasons given for asking ’em. Now, what do you think the lawyer making the inquiries wants?”
“A job,” says Mr. George.
“Nothing of the kind!”