“Well, first I want to see my father’s old mate—one of the men saved from the raft, you know—about—well, about a matter concerning the wreck. Perhaps, then, if you can give me a berth, I’ll be able to accept it.”
“Going over to the hospital to see him, eh? I know Caleb Wetherbee.”
“No, he’s out of the hospital now. He gave me his address—New England Hotel, on this very street—and hunting for the place is what brought me here.”
“Bless my soul!” cried the ship owner; “Caleb out of hospital? Why, I didn’t expect he’d be ’round for some time yet. The papers said he was pretty nearly done for when he got to New York. It went harder with him than it did with the other sailor—a good deal harder.”
Brandon looked at him curiously. If Caleb Wetherbee was a particular friend of Mr. Pepper, the captain’s son began to feel some doubt as to the latter’s sincerity.
“Perhaps you can tell me where the New England Hotel is?” he asked.
“Yes, it’s right along here on this side of the street; several blocks away, perhaps. But,” he added, “you don’t tell me that Caleb is there? Why, he must be ’way down on his luck. I must see about this.”
Mr. Pepper wrinkled his brow nervously and Brandon rose.
“Where are you going?”
“Up to see this man—this mate of the Silver Swan.”