Long
Oliver's lips shaped themselves as if to whistle; but he made no sound
until he overtook the pedestrian, when he pulled up, looked round in
the man's face, and said--
"Abe Bricknell!"
The sailor came to a sudden halt, and went very white in the face.
"How do you know my name?" he asked, uneasily.
"'Recognised 'ee back in Troy, an' borrowed this here trap to drive
after 'ee. Get up alongside. I've summat to say to 'ee."
Bricknell climbed up without a word, and they drove along together.
"Where was you goin'?" Long Oliver asked, after a bit.
"To Charlestown."
"To look for a ship?"
"Yes."
"Goin' back to America?"
"Yes."
"You've been callin' on William Geake: an' you didn' find Naomi at
home."
"Geake don't want it known."
"That's likely enough. You've got twenty-five pound' o' his in your
pocket."
Abe Bricknell involuntarily put up a hand to his breast.
"Ay, it's there," said Long Oliver, nodding. "It's odd now, but I've
got twenty-five pound in gold in _my_ pocket; an' I want you to swop."
"I don't take ye, Mister--"
"Long Oliver, I'm called in common.
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