“No, ’taint common. D’ye thing ye’ve seen Brandon since he’s been here in New York? He’s only been here two days, I reckon,” said old Arad eagerly.
“Perhaps.”
“Where was he?” queried the old man. “I’m his lawful guardeen, an’ I’m a-goin’ ter hev him back, now I tell ye!”
“Let’s see; his name is Brandon Tarr, isn’t it?”
“That’s it; that’s it,” Arad declared.
“And he came from Chopmist, Rhode Island?”
“Sartin. You must have seen him, mister.”
“I guess I have,” said Weeks reflectively. “He was the son of a Captain Horace Tarr, lost at sea on the Silver Swan not long ago, eh?”
“The very feller!” cried Arad, with manifest delight.
“Then I guess I can help you find him,” declared Weeks cheerfully. “Let’s go inside and I’ll tell you how I happened to run across him. It’s not a very nice looking place, this isn’t; but they know me here and it won’t be safe for them to treat any of my friends crooked.”