"No, my lad," said the skipper sternly. "And I can't do that. I am going to speak no ships. My work is to sail away and hold communication with no one. I have no need to make all this explanation to you, my boy, but I am doing it because we are sorry for you, and want to make things as easy as we can. Now, look here, you are a sensible lad, and you must learn to see your position. I can do nothing for you beyond treating you well, until I have made my port, run my cargo of knick-knacks, and cleared for home. By that time I shall have a clean bill of health, and be ready to look all new-comers in the face." "But how long will that be, sir?" cried Fitz excitedly. "Dunno, my lad. It depends on what's going on over yonder. If all goes smooth it may be only a month; if all goes rough, perhaps two, or three. I may be dodging about a long while. Worse still, my schooner may be taken, condemned, and my crew and I clapped in irons in some Spanish-American prison, to get free nobody knows when." "Oh!" groaned Fitz excitedly. "I am being very plain to you, my lad, now that the cat's out of the bag, and there's nothing to hide. I am playing a dangerous game, one full of risk. It began when I was informed upon by some cowardly, dirty-minded scoundrel, one who no doubt had been taking my pay till he thought he could get no more, and then he split upon me, with the result that your captain was put upon the scent of my enterprise, to play dog and run me down in the dark. But you see I had one eye open, and got away. Now I suppose the telegraph will have been at work, and the folks over yonder will be waiting for me there, so that I shall have to hang about and wait my chance of communicating with my friends. So there, you see, you will have to wait one, two, perhaps three months, before, however good my will, I can do anything for you." "But by that time," cried Fitz, "I shall be disgraced." "Bah! Nonsense, my lad! There can be no disgrace for one who boarded a vessel along with his crew, and had the bad luck to be struck down. Now, my boy, you know I'm a father. Let me speak like a father to you. Your real trouble is this, and I say honestly I am sorry, and so's Poole there, not so much for you as for your poor relatives. There, it's best I should speak quite plainly. It's as well to know the worst that can have happened, and then it generally proves to have been not so bad; and that's what clever folks call philosophy. The real trouble in your case is this, that by this time your poor relatives will probably know that your number has been wiped off your mess; in short, you have been reported--dead." "What!" cried the boy, in a tone full of anguish. "They will have sent word home that I am dead?" "I am afraid so," said the skipper. "It's very sad, but you have got to bear it like a man." "Sad!" cried the boy passionately. "It's horrible! It will break her heart!"