“Brandon Tarr.”
“Why, man alive, I never saw the lad in all my life!”
“Then,” declared Adoniram with energy, “there’s foul play about it. When I came down this morning I found the captain’s son waiting to see me. He’d just come down from Rhode Island, I believe, and he’d got your address—said he’d already seen you once, mind you—and was going up to this place to see you again.
“I thought ’twas funny you should put up at such a house, Caleb; but I didn’t know but perhaps you were ‘on your uppers’” (Caleb snorted at this), “and had gone there for cheapness. I told Brandon I’d come up after him this noon and take him to lunch.”
But Caleb was on his feet now, and pacing the floor like a caged lion.
“I see it all—I see it all!” he declared. “It’s some o’ that swab Leroyd’s work. Why, man alive, do you know what the New England Hotel is? It’s one o’ the wickedest places in New York. I know the den well, and the feller as runs it, too. Why, the boy’s in danger every moment he stays there!”
He seized his hat and jammed it on his head again.
“Ef anything’s happened to that boy, I’ll break every bone in that scoundrel’s body!” he exclaimed, seizing the door and throwing it wide open without the formality of unlocking it.
The splintered wood and broken lock flew in all directions as he dashed through the doorway and flung himself into the street, while Mr. Pepper remained weakly in his chair, too utterly bewildered to move, and the festive Mr. Weeks dodged behind the high desk with alacrity, as the sailor went through the outer office like a whirlwind.