“You don’t happen, mate,” says he, with a leer,--“you don’t happen to ’a’ seen a young man wandering about this here coast, do you?” “What kind of a young man might he be like?” says the landlord. He had seen no young man whatever. He would certainly have remarked the smallest detail of his appearance, had he done so; for the first of all Gamaliel Hooker’s characteristics was his inveterate curiosity. It was this which led him to push a topic that otherwise would have had no interest for him. “Well, mate,” says the mariner, “he ain’t very easy to describe, d’ye see. I’ve got to set eyes on him myself yet.” “A seafaring man?” said the landlord. “Not he,” said the mariner. “Gentle or simple?” said the landlord. The sailor hesitated an instant, while he gazed keenly at the host. He seemed to be calculating how far he could safely take Gamaliel Hooker into his affairs. “Gentle enough,” he said, reluctantly. “But he’d come unattended, I daresay; and he mought be drest like the commonalty.” “A soldier?” asked the landlord, with a flash of inspiration. “Never you mind,” said the other, roughly. “But how can I tell you whether I’ve seen him or not,” said the cunning Gamaliel, “unless I know the kind o’ young man he is?” “Well, a soldier then,” said the unwilling mariner. “No, I’ve not seen no proscribed Cavalier,” said the landlord. The mariner sprang up with an oath. “Who said ye had!” he cried. “Did I say ye had, you rum-peddling lubber?” “No; but you asked me,” said the cunning old rogue of a landlord. “I am damned if I did!” said the angry mariner. “Well, you didn’t then,” said the landlord, with a soft smile, “but I thought you did.” The sailor turned his ugly face full on the landlord’s. He looked him over steadily and fiercely. He then put down his pipe, spread out the palm of one hand, and tapped upon it with two fingers of the other to lend an emphasis to what he was about to say. And he chose his words with a most particular and deliberate care.