“I have informed Don Francisco, the lawyer, that Raimundo had gone to Oran; and I suppose he will be on the lookout for him. I have also written to Manuel Raimundo in New York. He must get my letter in a day or two,” continued the principal. “It is a very singular case; and I should as soon have thought of Sheridan running away as Raimundo.”
“He must have had a strong reason for doing so,” added the vice-principal of the Tritonia.
The next morning Mr. Pelham directed Peaks to bring his prisoner into the cabin. Bill Stout did not remember what he had said the night before; but he had prepared a story for the present occasion.
“Good-morning, Stout,” the vice-principal began. “How do you feel after your spree?”
“Pretty well, sir; I did not drink but once, and I couldn’t help it then,” replied the culprit, beginning to reel off the explanation he had got up for the occasion.
“You couldn’t help it? That’s very odd.”
“No, sir. I met a couple of sailors on shore, and asked them if they could tell me where the American Prince lay. They pointed the steamer out to me, and they insisted that I should take a drink with them. They wouldn’t take No for an answer, and I couldn’t get off,” whined Bill; and he always whined when he was in a scrape.
“Doubtless you gave them No for an answer,” laughed Mr. Pelham.
“I certainly did; for I never take any thing. They made me drink brandy; but I put very little into the glass, and, as I am not used to liquor, it made me very drunk.”
“One horn would not have made you as tipsy as you were, Stout. I think you had better tell that story to the other marines.”