“Oh!” said Aleck, also in a very indifferent tone.
Old Bill’s quaint and original views were so entertaining that the boys stayed much longer than they had intended.
Suddenly a loud, peremptory knock on the door startled them.
“Must be Dexter,” said Old Bill. “He’s the man what called to me from the wharf this afternoon. Drops in ’most every night fur a cup of coffee, Dexter does. Open the door, lad.”
A tall, thin man entered. He had an aquiline nose, keen gray eyes, and an air of authority.
“Hello, Bill,” he said, familiarly. “Company—don’t often happen, eh? Sit still, lads. How’s the world treating you, Bill?”
“Fair to middlin’. These youngsters was out with me this arternoon in the ‘Lottie.’ They was kinder curious about that there house-boat, and dropped in to ask about it.”
Dexter fixed his keen, gray eyes on George Clayton’s face, and a rather peculiar expression flashed across his own. He leaned forward, and the boy noted, with sudden apprehension, that the look he received was more than one of idle curiosity.
“Brown hair, blue eyes, straight features, gray suit, soft hat.”
Dexter, checking off this enumeration on his fingers, paused, and smiled grimly.