But that, of course, is stuff and nonsense.
Where's Falk?"
"Falk," said Roger with a wry smile, "decided to spend the rest of his days
at the Straits."
"Oh!" Young Webster looked hard at Roger and then looked around the deck.
All was ship-shape, but there were many strange faces.
"Oh," he said again. "And you--" He stopped short.
"And I?" Roger repeated.
Again young Webster looked around the ship. He bit his lip. "What is _your_
story, Mr. Hamlin?" he said sharply.
"Is your father here, Mr. Webster?" Roger asked.
"No," the young man replied stiffly, "he is at Newburyport, but I have no
doubt whatsoever that he will return at once when he hears you have
arrived. This seems to be a strange situation, Mr. Hamlin. Who is in
command here?"
"I am, sir."
"Oh!" After a time he added, "I heard rumors, but I refused to credit
them."
"What do you mean by that, sir?" Roger asked.
"Oh, nothing much, sir. You evaded my question. What is _your_ story?"
"_My_ story?" Roger looked him squarely in the eye. In Roger's own eyes
there was the glint of his old humorous twinkle, and I knew that the young
man's bustling self-importance amused him.
"My story?" Roger repeated.
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