I handed the telescope over to him; he looked through it for some time.
“A first-rate glass, Jack” (I was oftener called Jack than Tom at that time); “I never knew but one equal to it. Where did you get it?”
I don’t exactly know why, but perhaps the mystery evident in the widow, and the cautions I had received against Spicer, combined together, induced me not to answer the question.
“It’s odd,” observed Spicer, who was now examining the outside of the telescope; “I could almost swear to it.” He then looked at the small brass rim where the name had been, and perceived that it had been erased. “Now I’m positive! Jack, where did you get this glass?”
“It was made a present to me,” replied I.
“Come here,” said Spicer, leading me apart from the others standing by. “Now tell me directly,” and Spicer spoke in an authoritative tone, “who gave you this glass?”
I really was somewhat afraid of Spicer, who had gained much power over me. I dared not say that I would not tell him, and I did not like to tell a lie. I thought that if I told the truth I might somehow or another injure Mrs St. Felix, and I therefore answered evasively, “It was sent to me as a present by a lady.”
“Oh!” replied Spicer, who had heard of Sir Hercules and his lady, “so the lady sent it to you? It’s very odd,” continued he; “I could take my oath that I’ve had that glass in my hand a hundred times.”
“Indeed!” replied I. “Where?”
But Spicer did not answer me; he had fallen into one of his dark moods, and appeared as if recalling former events to his mind. He still kept possession of the glass, and I was afraid that he would not return it, for I tried to take it softly out of his hand, and he would not let go. He remained in this way about a minute, when I perceived my father and Ben the Whaler coming up, at which I was delighted.