With very bad grace the official wrote down something on a pad, tore the page off and thrust it at Richard.
"I hope you're satisfied," he snapped to Doc Linyard; and taking up Mr. Joyce's valise he entered an inner room, slamming the door behind him.
"Good riddance to him," muttered the old tar. "A few brass buttons on his coat has turned his head."
The train had fortunately been delayed, but it was now moving from the station. Richard and Doc Linyard made a rush for it, and succeeded in boarding the last car.
"Hope we're done with adventures," remarked the old tar, when they were seated. "I'd rather have things quiet and easy."
"I must thank you," said Richard heartily. "I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't come up just when you did."
"Shoo—'tain't nothing, Mr. Dare, alongside of what you did for me," replied the sailor. "But I've had a run of bad luck since I left New York two days ago," he added meditatively.
"Yes?" questioned the boy with some curiosity. "How so?"
"Well, it's this way," began Doc Linyard, crossing his good leg over the cork one: "My wife got a letter from England last week, saying as how an uncle had died, leaving his property to her and her brother, Tom Clover. In the letter she was asked to see her brother and fix the matter up with him. They wrote they didn't have his address, and so left it to her."
"I should think that would be all right," remarked Richard, as the old tar paused.