"My dear fellow, never speak so despondently. What is it now? a
difficulty with the commodore?"
"God's judgment light upon him!" cried Cloudy, pushing past and hurrying
up the stairs.
Thurston could not resume his former composure; something in Cloudy's
face had left a feeling of uneasiness in his mind, and the oftener he
recalled the expression the more troubled he became.
Until at length he could bear the anxiety no longer, and quietly leaving
his room, he went up-stairs in search of the youth, and paused before
the boy's door. By the clicking, metallic sounds within, he suspected
him to be engaged in loading a pistol; for what purpose! Not an instant
was to be risked in rapping or questioning.
With one vigorous blow of his heel Thurston burst open the door, and
sprung forward and dashed the fatal weapon from his hand, and then
confronted him, exclaiming:
"Good God, Cloudy! What does this mean?"
Cloudy looked at him wildly for a minute, and when Thurston repeated the
question, he answered with a hollow laugh:
"That I am crazy, I guess! don't you think so?"
"Cloudy, my dear fellow, we have been like brothers all our lives; now
won't you tell me what has brought you to this pass? What troubles you
so much? Perhaps I can aid you in some way.
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