“You speak of twenty thousand dollars as though you had no great respect for such a large sum,” chuckled the captain, who was not in possession of the news from the Park for the last two months, and perhaps not for the last two years. “A mere bagatelle,” said Louis, with supreme indifference. “That is very juicy talk for a young fellow like you, Louis, with an income on which a country curate might starve,” returned Scoble, who could make nothing of the magnificent talk of his passenger. “Oh, Uncle Moses would send me fifty thousand, knowing that mother is with me. Yes; he would send me a hundred thousand if my mother joined me in the request, for she is my legal guardian, you know,” continued Louis, who thought from the looks of his companion at the table that the shots he was pouring into him were rather warm, if not red-hot. “Nonsense, Louis! You are blowing, swelling, and gassing. But you can’t make me tipsy on tepid water. That old lobster couldn’t raise twenty thousand dollars to save his mustard-seed soul from a single day’s perdition. Have another cup of coffee, my boy: it will warm you up and help you to speak the truth.” “No, I thank you, captain. This coffee is not tepid water, and it might make me tipsy; and, judging from its effect upon you, who take it as a steady diet, I don’t believe it would help me to tell the truth.” “Very good, Louis! You were always rather smart,” replied Scoble, as he moved back from the table, having finished his dinner. “Thank you for your generous compliment, and especially for the sincerity with which it is bestowed.” “Do you smoke, my boy?” asked Scoble, taking a cigar from his pocket. “No, sir; I do not, and I never tried to do so.” “Then you are worse than a hot potato.” “And you are no better than a hot potato because you do smoke, for the smoke don’t make the potato any hotter. But if you have a good cigar, I should like it for a friend, who has unfortunately acquired the vicious habit,” said Louis, extending his hand to take the fragrant roll. “I did not find any cigars in the pantry where I discovered the Scotch ham, or I should have taken one for my friend.” “Who is your friend, Louis? Do you intend to keep that cigar till you get back to America?” asked the captain, as he held out his case to the passenger, who took a cigar from it. “I am afraid it will be all dried up by that time.” “Not at all; my friend will doubtless smoke it this afternoon.” “But who is your friend?” persisted Scoble. “Captain Ringgold is the one for whom I desire the cigar, for my chummy, Felix McGavonty, does not smoke any more than I do,” replied Louis in a matter-of-fact manner. “Oh, yes! I see; Ringgold and Felix. But I beg leave to remind you that both of them are confined in the hold of the vessel; for I suppose you have found that out before this time.”