The man's excitement lulled for a moment. He replied, carelessly:
"I am not a chameleon; I cannot live on air; I can earn no money. The elements are against me—storms and shipwrecks follow me.... I have not found him yet," he said, abruptly.
"Who?"
"My boy."
Flint turned aside his head, and laughed quietly.
"I am tired of searching for him," said the man, sorrowfully. "I am not going to sea any more." After a pause—"I wish to live among the fishermen off Nantucket. You ask me what I want?"
"Yes."
"I want two or three hundred dollars to fit up a fishing-smack. Give me this, and I will not trouble you again. God knows I don't want to look on your face!"
"And the letter—will you give me the letter?"
"Yes; when I take the money."