“Yes, I do, sir. I took the sheets off his bed this morning, and I’ve just been and put ’em on again. Mr. Saxby’s must be put on too, for he looked in to say he should sleep here.”
Where to search for Pym, Jack did not know. Possibly he might have gone back to the ship to offer an apology, now that he was sobered. Jack was bending his steps towards it when he met Ferrar: who told him Pym had not gone back.
Jack put on his considering-cap. He hardly knew what to do, or how to find the fugitives: with Sir Dace, he deemed it highly necessary that Verena should be found.
“Have you anything particular to do to-night, Mr. Ferrar?” he suddenly asked. And Ferrar said he had not.
“Then,” continued the captain, “I wish you would search for Pym.” And, knowing Ferrar was thoroughly trustworthy, he whispered a few confidential words of Sir Dace Fontaine’s fear and trouble. “I am going to look for him myself,” added Jack, “though I’m sure I don’t know in what quarter. If you do come across him, keep him within view. You can tell him also that his place on the Rose of Delhi is filled up, and he must take his things out of her.”
Altogether that had been a somewhat momentous day for Mr. Alfred Saxby—and its events for him were not over yet. He had been appointed to a good ship, and the ship had made a false start, and was back again. An uncle and aunt of his lived at Clapham, and he thought he could not do better than go down there and regale them with the news: we all naturally burn to impart marvels to the world, you know. However, when he reached his relatives’ residence, he found they were out; and not long after nine o’clock he was back at Mrs. Richenough’s.
“Is Mr. Pym in?” he asked of the landlady; who came forward rubbing her eyes as though she were sleepy, and gave him his candle.
“Oh, he have been in some little time, sir. And a fine row he’s been having with his skipper,” added Mrs. Richenough, who sometimes came off the high ropes of politeness when she had disposed of her supper beer.
“A row, has he!” returned Saxby. “Does not like to have been superseded,” he added to himself. “I must say Pym was a fool to-day—to go and drink, as he did, and to sauce the master.”
“Screeching out at one another like mad, they’ve been,” pursued Mrs. Richenough. “He do talk stern, that skipper, for a young man and a good-looking one.”