CHAPTER XVII
HOW THE OMNIPRESENT WEEKS PROVES HIS RIGHT TO THE TERM
Hampered as he was by his wooden leg, it was several moments before the old sailor could get upon his feet, and the festive Mr. Brady, maddened and almost blinded by the blow he had received in the first of the fracas, would have pitched into him had not Brandon threatened the fellow with one of the heavy chairs with which the room was furnished.
“I’ll make dis the sorriest day er your life, ye bloomin’ big brute!” declared Mr. Brady, holding one hand to his bruised face, and shaking the other fist at the sailor. “I’ll have ye jugged—that’s wot I’ll do——”
And just then he stopped, for in the doorway leading to the bar room stood Adoniram Pepper, flushed and breathless, and behind him the burly forms of two blue-coated policemen.
“Thank goodness, the boy is safe!” gasped the little merchant. “Are you hurt, Caleb?”
“Some shaken up, but that’s all, shipmate,” declared the mate of the Silver Swan. “I got here just in time to keep that brute Leroyd from choking the lad to death.”
“Mercy! and where is he now?”
“Skipped, I reckon,” responded Caleb briefly, brushing the sawdust off his clothing.
“But he’s stolen the papers,” said Brandon.
“Not the papers your father gave Caleb?” cried the little man. “He must be captured at once!”