“He is not your son, and you have no more claim on him than I have. The boy is an orphan. Have you been appointed his guardian?”
This question was out of Olaf’s depth in the English language; but it was translated into Danish by Professor Badois, and the skipper did not pretend that he had any legal authority over the boy.
“But I have fed and clothed him, and he must work for me,” said he.
“Ole says you did not feed him, and he had nothing but a few dirty rags on when we picked him up. I have nothing to do with the matter. Ole is free to go or stay, just as he pleases,” replied the principal, turning away from the skipper, to intimate that he wished to say nothing more about the matter.
“The boy is here, and I shall make him go with me,” said Olaf, looking ugly enough to do anything.
Mr. Lowington glanced at Peaks, and appeared to be satisfied that no harm would come to Ole. Olaf walked back into the waist, and then to the forecastle, glancing at every student he met, in order to identify his boy.
“See here, Norway; there comes your guardian genius,” said Scott, who, with a dozen others, had gathered around the trembling waif, determined to protect him if their services were needed. “Bear a hand, and tumble down the fore-hatch. Herr Skippenboggin is after you.”
Ole heeded this good advice, and followed by his supporters, he descended to the steerage. Olaf saw him, and was about to descend the ladder, when Peaks interfered.
“You can’t go down there,” said he, decidedly.
“I want the boy,” replied Olaf.