“See who?”
“Why, the boy—Captain Tarr’s son, Brandon?”
“What?” roared the sailor. “Then he’s here in New York, is he?”
“Why—of—course,” responded the merchant, in bewilderment. “I thought you’d seen him again. He started out to call on you not two hours ago. He said you’d given him your address—at the New England Hotel, just below here.
“And what I want to say, Caleb is that I don’t consider it a great proof of friendship on your part, for you to go to such a place as that, even if you were low in finances. I’d only be too glad to have you come to my house and stay the rest of your natural life—and so would Frances.”
“Me!—at the New England Hotel!—why the man’s crazy!” declared Caleb.
“Ain’t you stopping there?” gasped the merchant.
“Am I? Well. I guess not! I ain’t but just got out o’ the hospital this blessed morning.”
“Why, he said he’d seen you once, and you’d told him to call at the New England Hotel.”
“Who?” roared Caleb.