“What’s the news?” repeated Hal. He looked disheveled, excited. “And what are you in bed for, this time of day?”
His voice betrayed nothing save curiosity. No sympathy softened it.
“The doctor made me turn in,” Briggs explained. “I got wet through, going to town. But it was all for you, boy. So why should I mind?”
“For me, eh?” demanded Hal. “More trouble? Enough storm outside, without kicking up any more rows inside. Some weather, gramp! Some sailing weather, once a boat got out past the breakwater, where she could make her manners to the nor’east blow!” His tongue seemed a trifle thick, but the captain perceived nothing. “Well, gramp, what was the idea of going to town an afternoon like this?”
“To set you on the right road again, boy.” The captain raised himself on one elbow, and peered at his beloved Hal. “To open up a better career for you than I had. No more sea-life, Hal. There’s been far too much salt in our blood for generations. It’s time the Briggs family came ashore. You’ve got better things ahead of you, now, than fighting the sea. Peel your wet coat off, Hal, and sit down. You’ll take cold, I’m afraid.”
“Cold, nothing! This is the kind of weather I like!”
He pulled up a chair by the berth, and flung himself down into it, hulking, rude, flushed. In the dim light old Captain Briggs did not see that telltale flush of drink. He did not note the sinister exultation in his grandson’s voice. Nor did he understand the look of Hal’s searching eyes that tried to fathom whether the old man as yet had any suspicions of the robbery.
The captain reached out from the bedclothes he should have kept well over him, and laid his hand on Hal’s.
“Listen,” said he, weak and shaken. His forehead glistened, damp with sweat. “It’s good news. I’ve been down to see Squire Bean. I’ve paid him the money for McLaughlin, and got a receipt for it, and the case against you is all settled. Ended!”
“Is, eh?” demanded Hal, with calculating eyes. “Great! And the apology stuff is all off, too?”