“He must have been a coward as well as a bully,” spoke Ezra.
“No, he was a knave. I’d never suspected the true reason of it all if it hadn’t been for the bos’n. He’d noticed the same sail hanging in our wake for three days, and he spoke to me of it. Then I saw the real truth. Pickering had laid the ‘Champion’ on the rocks deliberately. Then his plan was for all hands to make away; the stranger was to approach, quietly take in our cargo, and Prentiss & Son would be the poorer for a fortune.”
“A very complete rascal, indeed,” said Scarlett. “What did you do?”
“Clapped him in irons and warned the strange vessel off with a show of six-pounders. Afterward I got a brig at Valparaiso, put the cargo into her, and disposed of it to good advantage in the regular way. For that service old Seth Prentiss paid me a first mate’s wages; but his son,” turning to Ezra, “your father, was more open-handed. It was through him that I could at last afford to give up the sea and buy out the ‘Jolly Rover.’”
They talked in the same strain for a while longer. But a patrol, knocking loudly at the door and bidding them extinguish the light, at last put an end to it.
The seaman innkeeper led his guests to their rooms.
“I can give you no light,” said he, “and I’m main sorry for it. But you can manage to sleep without it, I’m sure.”
He had said good-night to both, when he knocked at Ezra’s door and reopened it.
“Lad,” said he in a low tone, “your father was a friend to me. And if I, William Stacey, can do anything for you or your friend at any time, all you have to do is to give it a name.”
“Thank you, Mr. Stacey,” replied Ezra, gratefully. “I’ll remember that.”