Muriel, sinking from her assumed gaiety into sobriety, went to market near by in Mount Vernon street, returned in a few minutes, and, sitting alone in the library, resolutely shut out all thought for the present regarding the mysterious complication of affairs, and resumed the studies she had begun before breakfast, bent on pursuing them till Harrington came to go with her to Southac street.
In the mean time things had come to a pretty pass in the private counting-room of Mr. Atkins’s office on Long Wharf.
“Yes, sir, things have come to a pretty pass when such an infernal rascal undertakes to let a black beggar loose from aboard my brig,” foamed Captain Bangham, red with passion, and pounding the desk with his fist.
The merchant sat in an arm-chair near the desk, looking at the captain, with iron-clenched jaws, his eyes sparkling with rage in his set blanched face.
“If I ever heard of such a thing in all my life, Bangham!” he exclaimed, slapping both arms of his chair with his palms, and glaring all around the little mahogany-furnished office. “But where were you when this was done?”
“I, sir? Asleep in the cabin, Mr. Atkins. Never knew a thing about it, sir, till this morning. Just for special safety I didn’t have the brig hauled up to the dock yesterday, but let her lay in the stream. ‘Jones, says I, have you seen the nigger this morning?’ ‘No I haven’t, says he, cool as you please. ‘I guess I’ll take a look at him,’ says I, and so I took a biscuit and a can of water, and toted down to the hole where I had the nasty devil tied up, and begod, he was gone! I tumbled up on deck: ‘Jones,’ I shouted, ‘where’s the nigger?’ ‘I don’t know where he is now,’ says he, lazy as a ship in the doldrums. ‘All I know is,’ says he, ‘that I rowed him ashore about midnight, and told him to put for it.’ By ⸺” gasped Captain Bangham, with a frightful oath, “I was so mad that I couldn’t say a word. I just ran into the cabin, and when I came out, Jones wasn’t to be seen.—Hallo, there he is now!” cried the captain, starting to his feet and pointing out of the window to a tall figure lounging along the wharf, and looking at the shipping.
The merchant jumped from his chair, threw up the window, and shouted, “Here, you, Jones! Come in here.”
The figure looked up nonchalantly, and lounged across the street toward the office.
“He’s coming,” said the merchant, purple with excitement, and sinking back into his chair.