“Well—er—mebbe I will. Thankee, Adoniram.”
He was silent a moment, and then, suddenly bethinking himself of the errand which had brought him there, he turned upon the little merchant with a slap of his knee which sounded throughout the office like a gun shot.
“But this ’ere ain’t what brought me here—not by a long chalk. Ye know the Silver Swan, Adoniram? Cap’n Horace Tarr’s brig ’t I was with when she grounded on Reef Eight, two months and more ago?”
Mr. Pepper nodded.
“Well, sir, she’s afloat.”
“Afloat!”
“That’s what I said; afloat! A-f-l-o-t-e,” responded the sailor, spelling the word very carefully, if a trifle erratically.
“How—how can that be?”
“Well, ye see she went aground jest like she was goin’ inter stocks for repairs, and if we’d stuck by her, it’s my opinion Cap’n Tarr’d ha’ been alive now.” He stopped and blew his nose hastily. “Well, what is, can’t be bettered, so we’ll say no more o’ that.
“But what I’m gettin’ at is this: she went aground all standin’, an’ the storm wot come up right arterwards, blew her off ag’in. She’s been floating, according to this morning’s paper, ever since.”