On a table, roughly built out of similar boxes, a battered old stable lamp smoked and flared.

A more miserable human habitation could not be imagined.
"Hank," began the captain, "speak me fair and above board, mate--who give yer that letter ter bring ter me ter-night ?" "What letter ?" blankly responded Hank, a look of vacancy in his shifty eyes.
"Oh, yer know well enough; that letter yer give me at supper time." "Captain, I'll give you my davy I don't know what you're talking about," returned the beachcomber.
"What!" roared the captain: rising to his feet and advancing threateningly.

"Yer mean ter tell me, yer rapscallion, that yer don't recall landin' at Topsail Island earlier ter-night and givin' me a note which says ter come urgent and immediate ter see young Rob Blake here ?" "Why, captain," calmly returned Hank, with an indulgent grin, "I really think you must be gettin' childish in your old age.

You must be seeing things.

I hope you ain't drinking." "You--you scoundrel, you!" roared the old captain, almost beside himself with rage, and dancing with clenched fists toward Hank.
The beach-comber's filthy hand slipped into his rags in a minute, and the next instant he was squatting back on his haunches in the corner of the hut, like a wildcat about to spring.