“Like a man!” echoed Tom again. “Like a counterfeiter and forger! What did he want me to bring him Fenimore & Co.’s signature for? He thinks there’s nothing decent in me, like the rest of the world, I suppose. But no one ever thought I could quite make a thief yet!”
He started with a sudden stab of recollection.
“Yes, they have, too! Hal called me a thief, and tried his best to show me off for one! What difference does it make if I go with Davis? And who cares, whatever I do?”
Nine o’clock struck at last, and as he reached the lamppost Davis had marked as a rendezvous, a figure stepped from behind it.
“Oh, here you are! That’s the right kind of a fellow!” whispered Davis, slipping a hand into Tom’s arm. “Now come along and I’ll introduce you to some of my friends.”
“Stop!” said Tom, squaring himself, “I’ll tell you in the outset, I want nothing to do with any black work you may have going on; but if you can take me somewhere where it’s warm and bright, let’s go. I can’t walk here all night, and I can’t go home and talk to people, to save my life.”
CHAPTER XXVII.
The Cumbermede was ploughing her way merrily under a favoring breeze; her home run was half made, and everything had prospered as if Captain Carter were making his first voyage under a propitious star. His dream was realized at last, and he stood commander on his own quarter-deck. And commander he was indeed; every one on board found that out very speedily, for Carter had aimed at perfection from the day he shipped as a raw hand, and the eight years of holding fast to his motto hadn’t made him less devoted to it. Perfect order, perfect discipline, perfect action, nothing less was accepted; but somehow, instead of the thankless working, like wooden things, that most of them had always found a sailor’s life to mean, every one sprang to his duty with a will, and the ropes were pulled to a merry tune, instead of the unearthly guttural groan that served just as well to keep the time on many a ship.