“You certainly kin. I lives near the wharf; an’ will sartingly be proud to hev ye come,” and Old Bill named a street and told the boys how to reach it.
It was about half-past six when the two set out in search of Old Bill’s house. They easily found the street. It was a narrow, winding thoroughfare with rickety dwellings and large storehouses. The surroundings seemed to suggest water, and boats, and Bill Hollbacks.
Crushed between two larger buildings was the old riverman’s home; and the two found both himself and Bill Junior waiting to receive them.
“Come right in, youngsters,” he said, heartily. “You’re as welcome as the flowers in May. Fetch chairs, you Bill—that’s it.”
George and Aleck looked about them with interest. The old-fashioned, dingy room and old-fashioned furniture seemed so apart from the present age that they would not have been surprised to learn that the long line of Bill Hollbacks, from the dim and misty past to the present, had spent their lives within its walls.
“Wal, youngsters, I ain’t got much to tell ye,” said Old Bill, reflectively.
“Didn’t you see that house-boat, after all?” asked George, carelessly.
“Sartingly did; and with me own eyes. A crowd o’ lively chaps aboard, too. But it didn’t do no good.”
“How’s that?”
“Wal, some youngster they was lookin’ fur weren’t there.”