“I want to know your name.”
“My name? Ah, well—I don’t—you see—”
“Why, surely you haven’t forgotten your own name? What do they call you?”
“Poor fellow!” said Hubert; “his hunger has confused his brain. He’ll be better when he has had his breakfast.”
But the boy had now recovered himself, and replied,—
“I ax your pardon, captain; my name’s Jacob Poole.”
“Well, Jacob, you just wait here half an hour, and I shall have something to say to you when I come back, which may suit us both.”
When Captain Merryweather returned he found the boy looking out of the window at the streams of people going to and from the docks. His head was resting on his two hands, and it appeared to the captain that he had been weeping.
“Jacob,” he cried, but there was no answer.
“Jacob Poole,” again cried the captain, in a louder voice. The other turned round hastily, his face again flushed and troubled.