“Found it yet?” he shouted.
Hapgood answered from above.
“No, sir, not yet.”
“Then keep on lookin' till you do. It's a good excuse to keep him out of the way,” he explained, turning to Mr. Doane. “He makes me nervous, hangin' around and lookin' at me. I never was brought up to a butler and I can't get used to this one. Come on into the sittin'-room—library, I mean. The furniture ain't so everlastin' straight up and down there and there's somethin' to smoke—or there ought to be, if Cousin Percy ain't smoked it first. Come on, John.”
In the library, with lighted cigars and in comfortable easy chairs, the two men looked at each other.
“Well, John,” began the captain, “you—you come, didn't you?”
“Yes, of course. I should have come as soon as I got your letter, but I couldn't get away. I was going to tell you that.”
“Yes,” drily, “I know you was. If I hadn't cut across your bows, you would. Whew! if you had I guess likely there'd have been somethin' doin'. If Gertie or Serena knew I wrote you that letter I'd stand to lose what hair I've got left. Didn't I write you not to mention that letter to a livin' soul?”
“You did. But I couldn't understand why. What is all this secrecy, anyhow? And what is troubling you about Gertie?”
“Well, now, I don't know as there's anything.”