I showed them some of the city sights that afternoon and they started for home that night—and I saw to it that they were safely aboard their train.
That I should dream of Levant that night was entirely natural. They were enticing dreams and they made me homesick and I found out that I was not such a bold man, after all, in spite of the shell I had grown; I felt very much like a boy when I woke next morning. I was hungry for my own folks.
In my haste to be gone I forgot all my caution. I went down to the water-front just as if there were no such person as a vengeful Anson C. Doughty.
I had cached, temporarily, my diving equipment. I went to the storage-man and arranged for its care, paying in advance.
Then I was bold enough to go hunting up Jodrey Vose because I wanted to carry some fresh and direct message to his brother in order to secure continued favor in the case of the tavern-keeper; he certainly had been my best friend in Levant. I intended to lodge with him and I dreaded his keen questioning in case I went to him with lies about when I had seen his brother last.
I found the captain on his lighter and we had a good talk during his rest-spell.
“I’m sorry it has turned out for you as it has, young Sidney. But it’s a good idea for you to run up to the old town and hang round with Dod for a while and sort of get your feet placed all over again. Maybe something will turn up down this way later!”
“Anson C. Doughty’s toes, perhaps.”
He wagged his head, soberly.
“I’m glad you came down to take leave, son, but you’re running chances. Anson C. Doughty is mighty ugly. He was beaten up in front of his crew—and folks haven’t got done talking and he knows they are talking. You’d better be hipering, I reckon.”