He looked the stick over carefully, and cut another notch in it.
“Well, for one thing,” he remarked, “I’ve never been in these parts afore sence the day I was born. Fer another thing, it stands to reason you was too young to remember, even if Mary had talked to ye about her only brother afore she died an’ quit this ’ere sublunatic spear. An’, fer a third an’ last reason, Cap’n Steele were a man that had little to say about most things, so it’s fair to s’pose he had less to say about his relations. Eh?”
“Perhaps it is as you say, sir.”
“Quite likely. Yet it’s mighty funny the Cap’n never let drop a word about me, good or bad.”
“Were you my father’s friend?” I asked, anxiously.
“That’s as may be,” said Mr. Perkins, evasively. “Friends is all kinds, from acquaintances to lovers. But the Cap’n an’ me wasn’t enemies, by a long shot, an’ I’ve been his partner these ten year back.”
“His partner!” I echoed, astonished.
The little man nodded.
“His partner,” he repeated, with much complacency. “But our dealin’s together was all on a strict business basis. We didn’t hobnob, ner gossip, ner slap each other on the back. So as fer saying we was exactly frends—w’y, I can’t honestly do it, Sam.”
“I understand,” said I, accepting his explanation in good faith.