But here Inkspot could not help them. They could
not make him understand what it was they wanted him to say. At last, the
horse-dealer proposed to the others, who, he said, knew more about such
things than he did, that they should repeat the name of every
sailing-vessel on that coast of which they had ever heard--for Inkspot
had made them understand that his ship had sails, and no steam. This they
did, and presently one of the sailors mentioned the name _Miranda_, which
belonged to a brig he knew of which plied on the coast. At this, Inkspot
sprang to his feet and clapped his hands.
_"Miran'a! Miran'a.'"_ he cried. And then followed the words, "Cap' 'Or!
Cap' 'Or!" in eagerly excited tones.
Suddenly the thin-nosed man, whom the others called Cardatas,
leaned forward.
"Cap'n Horn?" said he.
Inkspot clapped his hands again, and exclaimed:
"Ay, ay! Cap' 'Or! Cap' 'Or!"
He shouted the words so loudly that the barkeeper, at the other end of
the room, called out gruffly that they'd better keep quiet, or they would
have somebody coming in.
"There you have it!" exclaimed Cardatas, in Spanish. "It's Cap'n Horn
that the fool's been trying to say. Cap'n Horn of the brig _Miranda_. We
are getting on finely."
"I have heard of a Cap'n Horn," said one of the sailors. "He's a Yankee
skipper from California. He has sailed from this port, I know."
"And he touched here three days ago, according to the negro," said
Cardatas, addressing the horse-dealer.
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