The boys gazed at his wake, and when he was out of all possible hearing young Mr. Lupton nudged his companion.
“That’s him!” he exclaimed. “That’s Captain Vanton, this Guy’s father. You know they say he was master of a three skysail-yarder that made a passage from New York to Honolulu in 90 days. Doesn’t he look like a Damn-Your-Eyes?”
Dick agreed.
“A regular brute!” ejaculated Tom. “Must have wads of money. Built that house and it’s finished in mahogany and teakwood like a ship’s cabin—cost a fortune! He must have been in the slave trade, eh? Where does a sea captain get all that money, even if he’s been master of a clipper ship?”
Dick, who reeked naught of the sea and cared less, didn’t know.
“That kid of his,” the garrulous Tom continued, “he’s a regular sissy. I s’pose his father frightens the life out of him. Probably flogs him with a rope’s end before breakfast.”
“Is he coming to school?” inquired young Mr. Hand.
“Naw. Leastways, I don’t believe so,” Tom responded. “He’d been by this time. They were here before school started. Why, it’s months since they moved into that house, and none of ’em has ever so much as spoke to anybody in Blue Port. They eat their meals at the Roncador House, but they never go anywhere. Not even to church.”
Everybody went to church in Blue Port. The information was astounding. The two boys agreed that a real mystery invested the Vantons; and as for Captain Vanton, he must have done something hellish to have so much money and hold so aloof and walk down Main Street as if it were his sacred quarterdeck on the queenly China Castle.