“Cap’n Steele’s son, I’m guessin’?” he continued.
“The same, sir,” and I made a movement to pass on.
“Sit down, Sam; there’s no hurry,” and he pointed to the bench beside him.
I obeyed, wondering what he could want with me. Half turning toward me, he gave another of those curious winks and then suddenly turned grave and resumed his whittling.
“May I ask who you are, sir?” I enquired.
“No harm in that,” he replied, with a smile that lighted his wrinkled face most comically. “No harm in the world. I’m Naboth Perkins.”
“Oh,” said I, without much interest.
“Never heard that name before, I take it?”
“No, sir.”
“Do you remember your mother?”