"Ben? Why, he comes Mondays and Thursdays, he does," said the fisherman; "ye'll find him here day after to-morrow, lad,—early, too, mos' like."
"Can you tell me where he left my trunks?" queried Noll.
At this question, the men looked perplexed. "Do ye mean boxes like?" they asked, after a time.
Noll was astonished at this lack of knowledge, but managed to explain to the two what he meant.
"Ye'd best go up to Dirk Sharp's," said one; "the skipper leaves much with Dirk, he does, an' ye'll be like to find 'em there."
"Back o' the wharf, lad,—back o' the wharf Dirk lives," the other called to Noll, as he walked away.
Dirk Sharp's house was rather smarter than the others,—at least, it was in better repair; but the look which Noll caught of its interior, as he stood rapping by the open door, sufficed to destroy any anticipations of industry or thriftiness which he might have formed from the dwelling's exterior. Dirk was a great broad-shouldered, slouching fellow, with a general air of shiftlessness about him. At Noll's summons, he came lounging out of an inner room, and, catching sight of the boy, said,—
"Lookin' for yer trunks, lad? The skipper said ye was to hev 'em las' night, shore; but ye see," pulling up his sleeve, "as how I got a cut what's hindered," displaying a long, bloody wound upon his arm. "Ye sh'u'd ha' had 'em, lad, but for that, as the skipper said. But ef ye ken wait till the men get back from their seinin'—Ho! there be Bob an' Darby now," he exclaimed, as he spied the two whom Noll had just passed.
"Ahoy there, lads! here be a job fur ye!" he cried to the fishermen.
The two left their work and came up to Dirk.