“I thought so,” Tom went on. “Then I have some news for you.”
“Don’t keep me in suspense over it, Tom,” Kit begged. “You know how you would feel about it if it was your own father.” In spite of his efforts to remain cool he felt his hand shaking a little.
“Oh, don’t be excited about it,” Tom continued. “I haven’t found your father, you know, or anything of that kind. But there’s a man aboard the ship who was before the mast on the Flower City when she was lost.”
“No!” Tom exclaimed. “Then he’s the first one of the crew who has ever been heard of! Now don’t keep me waiting, Tom; where is the man?”
“He’s on deck, up forward,” Tom answered. “It’s an old sailor they call Blinkey, because he has such a squint. He has a friend in our crew and came aboard to see him, and I happened to overhear him telling about his shipwreck in the Flower City. I thought that was your father’s vessel, so I got into a talk with him and told him about you, and made him promise to wait till you came back. He knew your father very well.”
“Blinkey!” Kit repeated. “Why, the very last time father was home he told us some funny stories about an old Irish sailor called Blinkey. It must be the same man.”
He hurried forward, and soon found the old man talking to a group of the sailors, still telling of his adventures in the Western World.
“And you’re Mr. Silburn’s lad!” Blinkey exclaimed, when Kit went up to him. “A fine, well-growed lad, too, with the look of your daddy in your eyes. And you’re a-learnin’ this bad trade, are you?”
One of the men nudged the old man and whispered that he was talking to the supercargo, whereupon he scraped the deck with one foot in lieu of a nod, pulled the peak of his cap, and gave the band of his trousers a nautical hitch.
“It’s beggin’ yer pardon I am,” he went on, “me not knowin’ as how I was speakin’ to a officer. But it’s the fine man yer father is, lad—I mean Mr. Silburn. I never shipped with a better mate.”