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"Gee! Bill, is she goin' to give you ten cents fer helpin' Maurice keep fire on?" asked Anson eagerly. The Admiral bowed in silence. He was the father of the person they were talking[Pg 183] about. Captain Acton's acceptance of an incident which must instantly prove sinister to a suspicious intelligence was noble and gracious, and it was certainly not for the father to endeavour to prove his son a rogue and a scoundrel, and perhaps worse still, in the teeth of the disposition of his employer to continue to place trust in him. "Wait," said the lawyer. "Tell me, Jacobs, is there anything in this world you care for outside of yourself and your ambition to climb to fortune over the necks of others? I'm curious to know.".

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The Admiral's face wore an expression that was almost imbecile with bewilderment. Maurice glanced fearfully over his shoulder. "Hush, Bill. If your Ma happens to come back here it'll go bad with me." "I tell you, Jack, we'll hide the stuff there. It'll be safe as a church." One bright morning in April in that memorable year 1805, Captain Charles Acton, R.N. (retired), stood on his lawn in front of the house watching a gardener who was at work at a flower-bed. He was a slightly-built but tall, very gentleman-like man, one of the last in a crowd to be picked out as a seafarer. He was pale, his nose aquiline, lips thin, and the expression of the mouth firm. He was dressed in a frill shirt, loose cravat of white cambric, red-striped waistcoat, long green coat with a high collar and small cuffs, tight breeches to the ankle buttoned to the middle of the thigh, and top-boots; a rather low-crowned, broad-brimmed hat sat somewhat cocked on his head. His hair was long, without powder, and tied a little way down the back in a sort of tail..