"No fear, though, sir… we'll find 'em, sooner'r later."
"I begin to wonder, Aspinall," Lewrie wearily said with a sigh, running his free hand over his hair and leaning his head back upon the oak of the hull's inner scantling and decorative panelling. " 'Pon my soul, I do."
Not only physically tired from his shore travels, from riding a hired horse far out into the countryside and back, Lewrie was starting to feel spiritually tired. No wonder, since he had done everything he could conceive of, had pursued every possibility no matter how tenuous, and it had all seemingly resulted in a titanic… nullity!
Toulon and Chalky, now that he'd alit, hopped up for a return bout of "pets" for the duration of the first mug of cold tea. By the refill, Toulon stalked off to claim his master's chair behind the desk, leaving Chalky to sling himself against Lewrie's thigh, wriggle and yawn, then stretch out half on his back with his paws in the air and "caulk" down, instantly don't-feel-a-thing asleep.
A forceful knock on the great-cabin door, the sharp thud of a brass musket butt on the deck, and the cry of "First Awf'cer, sah!" didn't even stir Chalky. "Come!" Lewrie responded.
"Sir," Langlie said, hat under his arm.
"You'll pardon me, Mister Langlie, do I not get up, hey?" Lewrie said, with a helpless shrug and a cock of his head in the direction of the fur-bag at his hip. "Take a pew, do. Aspinall, refreshments for Mister Langlie."
"Thankee, sir," Langlie answered, plunking down into a leather-and-wood chair that was ensembled with the settee, his hat in his lap, and fidgeting with expectation, not of the cool tea decoction, but of news, at last.