“Oh, you’ll find it all right,” said Mr. Glynne, “and very comfortable,” and he took his accustomed position at the library table. “Now, I won’t ask you any questions,” said he, “but will let you tell your story in your own way.”
The young man sidled to the edge of the chair which seemed more capable of supporting him, and began his story:
“My name is Silas Jubb and I live down in Pagham.”
Mr. Glynne was all attention.
“My chum’s name is Job Carder. He’s all knocked up and he couldn’t come, so he sent me.”
Mr. Glynne thought it was time to reassure the young man. “Yes,” he said, “my son’s wife was born in Pagham. She left London yesterday morning on her way to Paris, in company with a friend, and I understood from my son that they were to sail from Pagham.”
“Well, they won’t get there,” said Silas, with a shake of his head; “that’s what I’m here for.”
Mr. Glynne felt the blood rushing to his head, and his pulse quickened. “There has been an accident,” he thought. But he would ask no questions.
“Job’s father named his boat the Dart cuz it was the fastest craft of the kind in town, but it wuz run down by one of them Navy vessels in the Channel and Job’s father and Bill Merry and George Danks and the two women was drownded. Job was the only one picked up, and he’s ‘most dead. You see, afore the Dart set sail, the women told Job’s father to get word to your son if they reached the other side all right. As they didn’t, when Job came to, he thought as how you’d be anxious to know how things wuz and that’s what he sent me up for.”
“It was very thoughtful of him,” said Mr. Glynne, “and very kind of you to bring us the sad news.”