“New London,” replied the shallop’s master.
The anxiety of the little man now became tinged with eagerness.
“You did not bring a passenger, I know,” said he.
“Wrong, master,” returned the sailor. “I did, and there he sits, as natural as you please.”
A bronzed, well-made youth was leaning over the craft’s stern, gazing out over the waters of the bay to where several black hulled frigates swung frowningly at anchor; his eyes seemed to soberly measure the flaunt of their colors, and the bravado of their staring ports.
At once the weazened little man was at his side.
“Good-morning, young gentleman,” said he, with a squeak. “It is a beautiful day, is it not?”
The young man turned and surveyed the newcomer.
“Yes,” he returned, “it is a fine day enough.”
“You came down from New London, I understand,” questioned the dry little man. The youth nodded rather absently. However, the other rubbed his hands with quite a degree of briskness and seemed greatly pleased. “And,” said he, positively, “you were required to deliver—ah—something to—ah—some one?”