“Your first visit to the city?” he inquired, in a tone which caused Stephen to writhe inwardly.
“No-o. No, not exactly. I used to come here pretty frequent, back in my sea-goin’ days, when my ship was in port. I sailed for Osgood and Colton, down on South Street, for a spell. They were my owners. You don’t remember the firm, I s’pose?”
“No. The privilege has been denied me. You find some changes in New York, don’t you—er—Captain? You are a captain, or a bos’n, or admiral—something of that sort, I presume?”
“Malcolm!” said his mother, sharply.
“Oh, no offense intended. My sea terms are rather mixed. The captain will excuse me.”
“Sartin! Cap’n’s what they all call me, mostly. Your son ain’t ever been to sea, except as passenger, I cal’late, ma’am?”
“Certainly not,” snapped Mrs. Dunn.
“Of course, of course. Well, ’tain’t a life I’d want a boy of mine to take up, nowadays. But it did have some advantages. I don’t know anything better than a v’yage afore the mast to learn a young feller what’s healthy for him to unlearn. Good day, ma’am. Good day, Mr. Dunn. I mustn’t keep the Commodore waitin’ here with that valise. I’ll be out pretty soon, Caroline; just as soon as I’ve got the upper layer of railroad dust off my face and hands. You’ll be surprised to see how light-complected I really am when that’s over. All right! Heave ahead, Commodore!”
He departed, preceded by Edwards and the suit-case. Stephen Warren threw himself violently into a chair by the window. Young Dunn laughed aloud. His mother flashed an indignant glance at him, and then hurried to Caroline.
“You poor dear!” she exclaimed, putting an arm about the girl’s shoulder. “Don’t mind us, please don’t! Malcolm and I understand. That is, we know how you feel and—”