Aleck went off, being saluted by a nod from the middy, who lay back in the stern-sheets of the cutter. It was a nod that might have meant anything—condescension, friendliness, or a hint to keep his distance; but it did not trouble the lad, who trudged along the pier to fulfil his mission, and was soon after in the rugged, ill-paved main street, where he in sight of the naval group from the sloop, evidently busy buying and loading up with fresh provisions from the little shops.
He passed on, and was nearing the place where, in company with toys, grocery, and sweetmeats, the shopkeeper kept up a small supply of paper, for which the captain was his main customer, when a dark-bearded fisherman-like man suddenly turned out of a public-house, caught him by the arm, and hurried him sharply down a narrow alley which ran by the side of the little inn.
The man’s sudden action, coupled with the fact that he was the last person in the county he would have expected to see, took away the lad’s breath for a moment or two while he gazed up in the fierce searching eyes that seemed to be reading his thoughts.
“You, Eben?” he said at last.
“Me it is, youngster. What game do you call this?”
“I don’t call it a game at all. What are you doing here?”
“Never you mind what I’m a-doing here. P’raps I’m watching you. I want to know what your game is.”
“I’m playing at no game,” cried the boy, speaking rather indignantly. “Let go of my arm.”
“When you’ve told me what you’re a-doing of with them sailor chaps.”
“I? I’m doing nothing with them. I’ve come over in my own boat. I’m not along with them.”