And sitting down near the counter, Doc Linyard gave a graphic account of all that had transpired.
"I thank you very much," said Mrs. Linyard, when her husband had finished. "I know Doc won't forget what you did, and neither will I." She gave the boy's hand a tight squeeze. "Won't you have some supper with us?"
Richard hesitated. He always was backward in accepting favors.
"Come don't say no," urged Doc Linyard. "By the anchor, it's little enough."
Mrs. Linyard led the way to a cozy nook near the end of the restaurant, and gave them two seats at a small table covered with a snowy white cloth,—a table that was generally reserved for officers, or "upper class" patrons.
"So you've had no luck?" she said to her husband, as she began to bustle around with the tableware. "It's queer. What can have become of Tom?"
"Blessed if I know."
"We may lose that money, all through him," sighed Mrs. Linyard.
"It would be a shame," put in Richard. "Your husband has told me of the matter. I wish I could help you."
The sailor laughed good-naturedly. His disposition was too easy to worry much over the situation.