It was Sunday night, and the lounging room was
full. One of the inmates rose and offered him a
chair--he was much respected in the village, especially
among the rougher class, some of whom had
sailed with him--but he only waved his hand in
thanks.

"I don't want to sit down; I'm looking for Bart.
Has he been here?" The sound came as if from
between closed teeth.

"Not as I know of, cap'n," answered the landlord;
"not since sundown, nohow."

"Do any of you know where he is?" The look in
the captain's eyes and the sharp, cutting tones of
his voice began to be noticed.

"Do ye want him bad?" asked a man tilted back
in a chair against the wall.

"Yes."

"Well, I kin tell ye where to find him,"

"Where?"

"Down on the beach in the Refuge shanty. He
and the boys have a deck there Sunday nights. Been