"By the anchor, it's little
enough."
Mrs. Linyard led the way to a cozy nook near the end of the restaurant,
and gave them two seats at a small table covered with a snowy white
cloth,--a table that was generally reserved for officers, or "upper
class" patrons.
"So you've had no luck?" she said to her husband, as she began to
bustle around with the tableware. "It's queer. What can have become
of Tom?"
"Blessed if I know."
"We may lose that money, all through him," sighed Mrs. Linyard.
"It would be a shame," put in Richard. "Your husband has told me of
the matter. I wish I could help you."
The sailor laughed good-naturedly. His disposition was too easy to
worry much over the situation.
"Reckon as how you'll have your hands full on your own account, finding
work and all that," he returned.
"I suppose I will. Still I would like to help you."
Mrs. Linyard provided a warm and bountiful supper, and both enjoyed
every dish that was set before them.
"I mustn't lose too much time," went on the boy, as he was finishing.
"I must at least find a boarding-house. I don't want to spend the night
in the streets."
"No fear of that," said the old tar hastily. "Betty, another cup of
that good coffee, please. Tell you what I'll do if you're willing.
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