“Ay, ay, come alongside,” was the response of the officer of the deck, as the boat ran up to the gangway.
The next moment Barney Breslin stepped on board, and was in the presence of those who had been his companions at the Naval School, face to face with those who had known him as a thief.
His face was flushed, but it seemed rather from the effects of drink than from shame, for his whole appearance indicated that he led a dissipated life.
His dress was of the shabby genteel, and those who knew something of his antecedents felt convinced that his father had not taken him back into the bosom of the family, or else, as the son of a rich man, why was he looking so very seedy?
Scott Clemmons was below aiding the commander in some work at the time he was sent for, and he was excused to go on deck and meet his visitor.
Who that visitor was he had not the remotest idea, and it flashed through his mind that it might be his paternal ancestor.
Bemis Perry was not one to let him off without a shot, so said:
“Clemmons, your old friend Barney Breslin has called upon you, and from his looks I guess he wants a loan.”
The face of Scott Clemmons flushed scarlet, and the blood, as quickly retreating, left it as white as a corpse.
There stood Breslin, calmly gazing about the vessel, with no show of emotion at the awkward predicament he had placed himself in.