"Perhaps, sir, it is your wish to see Mr. Effingham--or--" hesitating an instant, as he scanned the stranger's appearance--"some of his people. The first will soon pass this spot, and you will find most of the latter on the lawn, watching the rockets." The man regarded Paul a moment, and then he removed his hat respectfully. "Please, sir, can you inform me if a gentleman called Captain Truck-- one that sails the packets between New-York and England, is staying at the Wigwam at present." Paul told him that the captain was walking with Mr. Effingham, and that the next pair that approached would be they. The stranger fell back, keeping his hat respectfully in his hand, and the two passed. "That man has been an English servant, but has been a little spoiled by the reaction of an excessive liberty to do as he pleases. The 'please, sir,' and the attitude can hardly be mistaken, while the _nonchalance_ of his manner '_à nous aborder_' sufficiently betrays the second edition of his education." "I am curious to know what this person can want with our excellent captain--it can scarcely be one of the Montauk's crew!" "I will answer for it, that the fellow has not enough seamanship about him to whip a rope," said Paul, laughing; "for if there be two temporal pursuits that have less affinity than any two others, they are those of the pantry and the tar-bucket. I think it will be seen that this man has been an English servant, and he has probably been a passenger on board some ship commanded by our honest old friend." Eve and Paul now turned, and they met Mr. Effingham and the captain just as the two latter reached the spot where the stranger still stood. "This is Captain Truck, the gentleman for whom you inquired," said Paul. The stranger looked hard at the captain, and the captain looked hard at the stranger, the obscurity rendering a pretty close scrutiny necessary, to enable either to distinguish features. The examination seemed to be mutually unsatisfactory, for each retired a little, like a man who had not found a face that he knew. "There must be two Captain Trucks, then, in the trade," said the stranger; "this is not the gentleman I used to know." "I think you are as right in the latter part of your remark, friend, as you are wrong in the first," returned the captain. "Know you, I do not, and yet there are no more two Captain Trucks in the English trade, than there are two Miss Eve Effinghams, or two Mrs. Hawkers in the universe. I am John Truck, and no other man of that name ever sailed a ship between New York and England, in my day, at least." "Did you ever command the Dawn, sir?"