“Why don’t you go, then?”
“Because there’s a trifle in the way. I owe twenty-five dollars in New York, and if I don’t pay it up square the party’ll put a spoke in my wheel, and prevent my getting the situation.”
“So you want me to advance you the necessary money?”
“Yes, I’ll pay you back at the end of the voyage.”
“Do you know the captain under whom you are to sail?” asked the squire, thoughtfully.
“Yes, a little.”
“What sort of a man is he?”
“Oh, an average sort of a man,—rather a Tartar, so I hear from some who have sailed under him. He likes his ease, and leaves the vessel pretty much in the hands of his first officer.”
A train of reflection had been started in the squire’s mind by the communication of his kinsman. He wanted to be rid of Harry Raymond. Why could he not arrange with Hartley Brandon to smuggle him off to sea, where he would be out of the way of interfering with his plans? It might be difficult to manage, but no doubt some way would suggest itself. As for Brandon, there was no fear of his refusing. He was not troubled with scruples, and a small sum of money would buy his co-operation.