Chapter XXIII
In Which I Begin to Wonder “Is It Me, or Is It Not Me?”
I had told nobody aboard the Scarboro the particulars of my home-life, or the incidents leading to my being swept out to sea in the Wavecrest. Had Ben Gibson been my mate in the crew instead of holding the position of second officer, undoubtedly he would have had my full confidence. As things stood, I had no desire to take either Ben or the old sailor into closer communion with my thoughts.
The great steamship passed us and swept up the Silver River, leaving the Wavecrest far behind. She would reach Buenos Ayres fully twenty-four hours before the sloop could make that port. But this delay did not trouble me at the time. I wanted to think the situation over, anyway.
At the start I was pretty sure that Paul Downes had not come down here on my account. He wasn’t looking for me. Nor did it seem that he had left home under very favorable circumstances. Otherwise he would not be peeling vegetables for the cook of the Peveril.
After the first confusion passed from my mind I could pretty easily figure out the probable incidents that had brought my cousin down here. I knew about how long it had taken the steamship to voyage from her home port. Had my letters been delivered in Bolderhead within reasonable time, my mother and Ham, and the others must have been aware of the explanation of my absence a week or two previous to the sailing of the Peveril from Boston.
I had told Mr. Hounsditch, our lawyer, the whole truth about my sloop being swept away; I had likewise advised Ham Mayberry to gather what evidence he could against my cousin and those who had helped him commit the outrage that had placed me in such peril. It was a cinch that Paul had got wind of these discoveries, had been fearful of being arrested for his part in the crime, and had run away from home.
In doing so, too, it was evident that his father, Mr. Chester Downes, had not been a party to his escape. Paul had slipped away without his father’s help or knowledge of his going. Otherwise Paul would not have been in a moneyless state, and he must have been moneyless before he would have gone to work. Paul didn’t love work, I knew; and I could imagine that there was no fun connected with the job he seemed to have annexed aboard the Peveril.