ay it is true, Mr. Carvel?"

"Sir!" I replied, "I thought we had thrashed that out."

"Yes, yes, to be sure. I beg pardon," said he. And then to his servant:
"Colomb, is my writing-tablet unpacked?"

I was more mystified than ever as to his identity. Was he going to put
the story in a magazine?

After that he seemed plainly anxious to be rid of us. I bade him good
night, and he grasped my hand warmly enough. Then he turned to the
captain in his most condescending manner. But a great change had come
over John Paul. He was ever quick to see and to learn, and I rejoiced to
remark that he did not bow over the hand, as he might have done two hours
since. He was again Captain Paul, the man, who fought his way on his own
merits. He held himself as tho' he was once more pacing the deck of the
John.

The slim gentleman poured the width of a finger of claret in his glass,
soused it with water, and held it up.

"Here's to your future, my good captain," he said, "and to Mr. Carvel's
safe arrival home again. When you get to town, Mr. Carvel, don't fail to
go to Davenport, who makes clothes for most of us at Almack's, and let
him remodel you. I wish to God he might get hold of your doctor. And
put up at the Star and Garter in Pall Mall: I take it that you have
friends in London."

I replied that I had. But he did not push the inquiry.

"You should write out this history for your grandchildren, Mr. Carvel,"
he added, as he bade his Swiss light us to our room. "A strange yarn
indeed, captain."

"And therefore," said the captain, coolly, "as a stranger give it
welcome.

"'There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio,
Than are dreamt of in your philosophy.'"

Had a meteor struck at the gentleman's feet, he could not have been more
taken aback.

"What! What's this?" he cried. "You quote Hamlet! And who the devil
are you, sir, that you know my name?"

"Your name, sir!" exclaims the captain, in astonishment.

"Well, well," he said, stepping back and eying us closely, "'tis no
matter. Good night, gentlemen, good night."

And we went to bed with many a laugh over the incident.

"His name must be Horatio. We'll discover it in the morning," said John
Paul.

CHAPTER XXIII

LONDON TOWN

But he had not risen when we set out, nor would the illnatured landlord
reveal his name. It mattered little to me, since I desired to forget him
as quickly as possible. For here was one of my own people of quality,
a