The two were soon standing side by side on the bank near the track.
"Wish I could reward you," went on the man. "But I ain't got a dollar
all told."
And diving into his capacious pocket he brought to light only a
miscellaneous collection of small coins.
"Oh, never mind that," said the boy, coloring a trifle. "I'm glad
you're all right."
"So am I--downright glad, and no mistake. As I said afore, my name is
Linyard, Doc Linyard, general manager, along with my wife, of the Watch
Below, the neatest sailors' lunch-room on West Street, New York. I say
neatest acause my wife keeps it. She's a worker, Betty is. Come and
see me some time. I won't forget to treat you well."
"Thank you, Mr. Lin--"
"Avast there! Don't tackle no mister to my name," interposed the old
sailor. "What's _your_ name?" he continued suddenly.
Richard told him.
"All right, Mr. Dare. I'll remember it, and you too. But don't go for
to put a figure-head to my name. Plain Doc Linyard is good enough for
such a tough customer as me."
"I'll remember it, Mr--"
"Avast, I say--"
"I mean Doc Linyard."
And shaking hands the two separated.
Picking up the two valises, Richard made his way through the crowd,
looking for Mr. Joyce. It seemed rather queer that the gentleman who
had left his baggage in the boy's care was nowhere to be found.
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