The change that came over Jackson's face as he learned the quality of
the stranger and his requests was great. The old salt, who had been king
of his house and of the Point for so long a time, had evidently
never even thought of the probability of such an intrusion as was now
presented to him, and he was amazed at what he considered to be the
unwarrantable assurance of the stranger. However, he recovered himself
smartly, and asked the new man if he had any written credentials.
"Certainly," replied he, pulling out a document all wet with salt water.
"Here is a letter from Messrs. Flint Brothers, of which, no doubt, you
will have a copy in your mail-bag."
Jackson took the letter and opened it, and seemed to read it slowly to
himself. All at once he started, looked at the new agent, advanced a
step or two toward him, muttering, "Bransome, Bransome," then stopped
and asked him in a strange constrained voice, "Is _your_ name Bransome?"
"Yes," replied the latter, astonished at the old man's question.
"I knew a Bransome once," said Jackson, steadily, "and he was a
scoundrel.
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