The Last Cruise of the Spitfire Part 40

I walked out upon the busy street. It was brightly lighted, and in the evening looked very similar to Fourteenth Street in New York.

I found a mail-box on the corner, and dropped my letter in it.

I was just turning away from the box when I felt a hand on my arm and a cheery voice called out:

"Well, dash my toplights, if it ain't Luke Foster! How under the polar star did you git here, boy?"

I turned swiftly and found that the man who had addressed me so cheerily was none other than Tony Dibble.

"Why, Dibble!" I returned, warmly, and clasped his hand.

"I thought you was on your way to Liverpool."

"I just got in Boston," I returned.

"And where's the Spitfire?"

"At the bottom of the Atlantic, Dibble."

"No!" He stared at me for a moment. "Then the old man----" he began in a whisper.

"Hush! not so loud!" I interrupted. "Somebody may overhear you."

"That's so." He lowered his voice still more. "She was really done for, then?"

"Yes, burned up."

"Too bad! She was an old tub, nothin' better. But I kinder loved her, havin' sailed in her so long. The villains! They ought to be strung up to the yard-arm, every one of 'em!"

"How did you get here?" I asked, curiously.

"Just came up from New Bedford. That there lawyer, Ranson, said I had better come up here and wait till I heard from him. He was going to git a boat and go after the Spitfire."

"He did get a boat, and rescued Phil Jones and I from a raft, after the Spitfire was burned."

"Good for him! And where is the captain now?"

"Locked up."

"What!" roared Tony Dibble, in amazement. "Do you mean to tell me they caught him red-handed?"

"Hardly, but they caught him, and the others, too."

"Good!"

"Mr. Ranson is now stopping at the Ridgerow House, and I am stopping with him."

"Yes, he told me the name of the hotel. I was on the way down there now to see if he had got back."

"Perhaps you can help him as a witness against Captain Hannock," I went on.

"I reckon I can. I ain't a lovin' the captain much, I can tell you."

"I suppose not."

"No, he was a corker to sail under. It was only the old Spitfire that took my eye. But she's gone now----" Tony Dibble wiped the moisture from his eyes. "Too bad! Ought to string 'em up, say I!"

"The law will deal with them, never fear."

Dibble was curious to know the full particulars of the going down of the Spitfire, and walking to a somewhat retired part of the street, I gave them to him. He shook his head over and over again.

"And all my duds a-goin' with her," he said "Who's goin' to pay for them?"

"Captain Hannock ought to."

"So he had! Is that there lawyer at the hotel now?"

"Yes."

"I'm going to see him at once. Coming along?"

"Not just now. I will be back later."

"Just so, Luke; I hope you git justice for bein' left aboard."

And with a shake of his weather-beaten face, Tony Dibble started off for the Ridgerow House.

Then I continued my stroll quite a distance. Some of the shop windows that were still lighted interested me, and before I knew it I had gone a mile, if not more. At length I came to a railroad station. A number of trains had just come in, and a crowd of people were streaming from the various entrances and I stopped to watch them.

Suddenly some one stopped in blank amazement before me.

"So here's where you have been keeping yourself, young man!" were the first words I heard.

Somewhat startled, I looked full at the speaker.

It was my uncle Felix!

"Mr. Stillwell!" I e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed.

"Exactly; and you shall not escape me this time!"

And with a very stern face my uncle caught me by the collar.

"Let go of me!" I cried.

"Not much! And don't you dare to try to break away, for if you do I will hand you over to the first policeman that appears!"