“N—n—n—not exactly.”
“St. Paul’s, then?”
“Wal—‘twan’t St. Paul’s, nuther.”
“O, a kind o’ general cruise, I see; young adventurers, and all that. But I’m glad you took my advice, and didn’t go to Anticosti. A bad place. And how do they like Newfoundland?”
“Wal—they—didn’t—quite git to Newfoundland, nuther,” said Captain Corbet, in a low, faint, hesitating, confused way.
“No, of course not,” said Ferguson, briskly. “Too far away; I said so. You concluded to go to Gaspe, of course.”
“Wal—n—n—n—no, we didn’t quite get—off—in that thar—de—rection,” replied Captain Corbet, who was utterly at a loss how to fight off this eager and inquisitive questioner. Had the good captain been capable of telling a lie, his task would have been easier; but he was a truthful man, and in this case he hardly knew what to do.
“Well, come now,” said Ferguson, “where did you go?”
Captain Corbet started at this point blank question, and was perfectly dumb.
Ferguson looked at him with keen scrutiny, and then said,—