“You’ve got it all now. I haven’t another cent.”
“I don’t believe it.”
“Then you had better sound me,” said Chase. “My wages amounted to only seventy-five dollars, and the articles I drew from the slop-chest used them all up.”
“Well, you’re a nice lad to come ashore after a long voyage, ain’t you now?” said the landlord, who did not try to conceal his disgust.
“I am not worth robbing, am I?” said Chase, to himself.
“I believe you’re a deserter,” continued the landlord, “else you’d have more money.”
“I couldn’t very well have deserted in broad daylight with a bundle over my shoulder,” said Chase. “And besides, there’s my certificate of discharge.”
“That may be all right, and then again it may not,” said the landlord, holding the document upside down while he looked at it. “There’s a law that governs us boarding-house keepers, and you must stay here till I find out whether or not you are all right.”
“Very good,” replied the boy, who knew that he could not help himself. “Send somebody down to the Petrel with that discharge, and if Captain Pratt doesn’t say it is correct, I am willing to go back.”
“Perhaps he’ll put you in jail. That’s what they do with deserters sometimes.”