They went ashore a little later and looked for him there, but without success. All they did find was a rather hot-tempered old man, who, irritated by the searching scrutiny of the cook, asked him shortly whether he had lost anything, because, if so, and he, the cook, thought he was sitting on it, perhaps he’d be good enough to say so. The cook having replied in fitting terms, they moved off down the quay to the next tavern. Here they fared no better, Dick declaring that the beer was if anything worse than the other, and that nobody who had lived in the place any time would spend his money there. They therefore moved on once more, and closing time came before their labors were half completed.
“It’s quite a little romans,” said Sam thickly, as he was pushed outside the last house of call, and a bolt shot desolately behind him. “Where shall we go now?”
“Get back to the ship,” said Dick; “come along.”
“Not ’fore I foun’ ’im,” said Sam solemnly, as he drew back from Dick’s detaining hand.
“You won’t find him to-night, Sam,” said the cook humorsomely.
“Why not?” said Sam, regarding him with glassy eyes. “We came out fin’ ’im!”
“Cos it’s dark, for one thing,” said the cook.
Sam laughed scornfully.
“Come on!” said Dick, catching him by the arm again.
“I come out fin’ cap’n, cap’n—fin’ ’im,” said Sam. “I’m not goin’ back ’thout ’im.”