“I know he does, for I have talked with him in that language myself; but we Englishmen don’t go to France to look for our sailors,” replied Scoble, with a fine show of self-sufficiency, for his knowledge of French consisted of half a dozen phrases he had picked up. “I thought he had learned his French so thoroughly that he must have made himself equally proficient in his seamanship.” “Not at all. Frinks is the son of a merchant who spent a good deal of money on his education. He died about three years ago, leaving his son about ten thousand pounds. Frinks bought a yacht, and learned something about a vessel. He ran through his money in two years, and has been a sort of vagabond ever since. I took pity on him and made him mate of the Maud.” “He knows how to play the gentleman whether he is competent to play the _rôle_ of mate or not,” added Louis. “He managed the little comedy you laid out for him at the Park, as the presence of my mother and myself on board of the Maud abundantly proves.” “He did very well so far; but he failed totally to obtain the information I wanted. In fact, he could tell me nothing, though he hung round the office of that old lobster, Squire Scarburn, and heard some conversations that were of no consequence whatever to me. He knew nothing about you except that you wanted to buy a vessel.” “Possibly I may be able to give you the information you desire, Captain Scoble,” suggested Louis. “Why do you call me Captain Scoble?” demanded the commander of the Maud, with a gathering frown on his brow. “You have always been accustomed to call me Mr. Farrongate, and I desire still to be called by that name.” “I am sorry that I cannot accommodate you, Captain Scoble.” “What is the reason you cannot?” demanded the captain, subduing a rising flash of anger. “I suppose you have heard of the German who explained why he called his son Hans, for it is a very antiquated chestnut.” “I can’t say that I ever heard the German’s reason.” “Der reason vot ve call our boy Hans is dot’s his name. I can only plead the same excuse.” At this moment the cook appeared at the door with a dish of potatoes and a pot of coffee, announcing that dinner was ready. “If you will excuse me, Captain Scoble, I will look into the stateroom and see how mother is getting along,” said the passenger, moving to the door. “Ask her to come out and have some dinner. I will order anything she likes,” added the captain. “I will deliver your message,” answered Louis, as he went into the room without making any noise. He crept gently to her berth, and found that she was asleep. As her slumber was doubtless doing her more good than a dinner would, even if she were disposed to eat it, he did not disturb her, withdrawing from the room as silently as he had entered. He reported the result of his visit to the captain.