As for Sir John, he sat at dinner and gobbled and ate and drank, smacking his lips all the while, but with hardly a word of civility either to Mr. Greenfield or to Mrs. Greenfield or to Barnaby True; but wearing all the while a dull, sullen air, as though he would say, “Your damned victuals and drink are no better than they should be, but, such as they are, I must eat ’em or eat nothing.”

It was only after dinner was over and the young lady and the two misses off in a corner together that Barnaby heard her talk with any degree of ease.  Then, to be sure, her tongue became loose enough, and she prattled away at a great rate; though hardly above her breath.  Then of a sudden her grand-father called out, in his hoarse, rattling voice, that it was time to go, upon which she stopped short in what she was saying and jumped up from her chair, looking as frightened as though he were going to strike her with that gold-headed cane of his that he always carried with him.

Barnaby True and Mr. Greenfield both went out to see the two into their coach, where Sir John’s man stood holding the lantern.  And who should he be, to be sure, but that same lean villain with bald head who had offered to shoot the Captain of Barnaby’s expedition out on the harbor that night!  For one of the circles of light shining up into his face, Barnaby True knew him the moment he clapped eyes upon him.  Though he could not have recognized our hero, he grinned at him in the most impudent, familiar fashion, and never so much as touched his hat either to him or to Mr. Greenfield; but as soon as his master and his young mistress had entered the coach, banged to the door and scrambled up on the seat alongside the driver, and so away without a word, but with another impudent grin, this time favoring both Barnaby and the old gentleman.

Such were Sir John Malyoe and his man, and the ill opinion our hero conceived of them was only confirmed by further observation.

The next day Sir John Malyoe’s travelling-cases began to come aboard the Belle Helen, and in the afternoon that same lean, villanous man-servant comes skipping across the gangplank as nimble as a goat, with two black men behind him lugging a great sea-chest.  “What!” he cries out, “and so you is the supercargo, is you?  Why, to be sure, I thought you was more account when I saw you last night a-sitting talking with his honor like his equal.  Well, no matter,” says he, “’tis something to have a brisk, genteel young fellow for a supercargo.  So come, my hearty, lend a hand and help me set his honor’s cabin to rights.”

What a speech was this to endure from such a fellow!  What with our hero’s distaste for the villain, and what with such odious familiarity, you may guess into what temper so impudent an address must have cast him.  Says he, “You’ll find the steward in yonder, and he’ll show you the cabin Sir John is to occupy.”  Therewith he turned and walked away with prodigious dignity, leaving the other standing where he was.