“Well, suppose you was to ask ’em straight out, sort of joking like, which one of ’em ’ad got the money,” suggested Horace, but with no great confidence.
“Tried that!” retorted Captain Gooster, curtly. “No good.”
“Which of ’em seemed most annoyed at the question?” asked Mr. Dobb, shrewdly. “She’d be the one ’oo ’adn’t got any.”
“They neither of them said nothing. They just looked at me, and I began to talk about the weather.”
Horace, leaning back, folded his arms and tightly closed his eyes. Captain Gooster realizing that his companion was thus incubating thought, forbore from offering further speech, but sat waiting in some anxiety for demonstration of Mr. Dobb’s ingenuity.
“You’ll ’ave to take me up there and let me see ’em,” said Horace, at length. “Introdooce me to ’em as the new cook you’re signing for the ‘Alert.’ That’ll be the truth, so it’ll be quite all right.”
“What? A skipper introdooce ’is new cook—”
“Well, if they seems surprised at all, you can tell ’em what a superior young man I am really, and ’ow I’m an old friend of yours, and so on. It’s the only way I can do anything—I must see ’em personal. Suppose I was to start making inquiries off the neighbours, for instance. The fat would soon be in the fire then, wouldn’t it?”
“Matter of fact,” confessed the skipper, with reserve, “there ’as been more gossip about already than I care for.”
“Let me see ’em and keep my eyes open and ask a question ’ere and there, most innocent, and I’ll find out the truth quick enough,” boasted Mr. Dobb. “It won’t be too late to call on ’em to-night, will it? Just about right, I should think; with luck, we ought to catch ’em just at supper-time. You wait ’ere, and I’ll run back and tidy myself a bit.”