"Bought for me!" exclaimed Charlie, in great bewilderment.
"Yes. You wondered how they happened to fit you so well. That is easily explained. They were picked out on purpose for you. The old Jew in the clothing-store took your measure with his eye while you were standing there with me. Faith, he's got a pretty sharp eye."
"But your nephew?" said Charlie, his heart sinking, as he began to comprehend the plot to which he had fallen a victim; "I thought you said they belonged to him."
"Well," said Randall, with a harsh laugh, "you're my nephew."
"I am not," said Charlie, with something of haughtiness in his tone, as he surveyed the mate scornfully.
"He's got his mother's look," muttered the latter. "That's the way she looked when she sent me about my business. She'd look something different, I fancy, if she knew I'd got her boy in my power. I've got the whip-hand of her now, and she'll live yet to repent the day she rejected Jack Randall."
These thoughts flashed through his mind in an instant, and did not prevent his answering at once Charlie's bold denial.
"There's a little too much pride about you, youngster. It'll need taming down. You're to be my nephew while you're aboard this ship. Remember, your name is Jack Randall. Take care that you claim no other."
"What good will that do?" said Charlie. "I am not going to remain on board."
"You're not, eh?" said the mate, significantly.