“I’m in the devil’s own mess,” was the answer.
“Can I do any thing to help you?”
Instead of making a direct reply, Geoffrey lifted his mighty hand, and gave Arnold a friendly slap on the shoulder which shook him from head to foot. Arnold steadied himself, and waited—wondering what was coming next.
“I say, old fellow!” said Geoffrey.
“Yes.”
“Do you remember when the boat turned keel upward in Lisbon Harbor?”
Arnold started. If he could have called to mind his first interview in the summer-house with his father’s old friend he might have remembered Sir Patrick’s prediction that he would sooner or later pay, with interest, the debt he owed to the man who had saved his life. As it was his memory reverted at a bound to the time of the boat-accident. In the ardor of his gratitude and the innocence of his heart, he almost resented his friend’s question as a reproach which he had not deserved.
“Do you think I can ever forget,” he cried, warmly, “that you swam ashore with me and saved my life?”
Geoffrey ventured a step nearer to the object that he had in view.
“One good turn deserves another,” he said, “don’t it?”