Dave arose and took the binoculars from a capacious pocket which he had torn while jamming them in. “Glad I saved those,” he said, handing them over for inspection. “Dad specially told me to take care of them.” “They certainly are too good to lose. Have you been at sea long?” “Only a few months,” the boy explained. “I wanted to get back to America, but this doesn’t look much like it, does it?” “It’s quite a step, so to speak, from here to New York,” agreed Tempest, filling his pipe with strong black tobacco and balancing himself precariously on the two back legs of the chair again. “Did you come all the way on that little steamer?” Dave recounted his adventures, which seemed to interest his companion, who asked several questions which showed that he had an intimate knowledge of ships. “Have you been a sailor?” the boy asked. “Sometimes,” Tempest replied. “I’ve knocked about the world a bit before the mast, though I’m willing to admit it is more comfortable in the passengers’ quarters. But funds don’t always run to taking a passenger’s ticket, and a spell of sailoring keeps one in good trim, besides providing the necessary cash for such things as tobacco and having one’s trousers pressed. By the way, we ought to do something for your knee. Let’s have a squint at it.” Tempest made a careful examination of the damaged limb. The skin was scarcely broken, but the joint was puffed up and beginning to turn blue. “I’m no doctor,” said Tempest, “but I reckon you’ll be fairly all right in a day or two if you rest it as much as possible. If not, there’s a doctor lives about ten miles away.” “Doctor!” cried Dave. “If he’s ten miles away, that’ll be twenty for the round trip, and I haven’t got a red cent.” “That’s all right. He is a particular friend of mine,” replied Tempest, “and he just loves to admire the scenery in this neighborhood.” He caught a questioning look in the boy’s eyes. “Well, he won’t take us for a couple of bloated millionaires, anyway, if he has two eyes in his head,” Tempest went on. “For the present you’ve got to lie on a mattress outside in the sun and be as comfortable as possible. The weather is beautiful now. It’s so long since I entertained a guest that I’m enjoying the novelty of it.” In spite of the sudden change in his circumstances and the exciting incidents which he had just passed through, Dave felt very peaceful lying there and listening to the easy chatter of his new friend, who had a wonderful fund of tales to tell about many lands. He had drifted almost all over the surface of the globe, picking up a living in various casual ways, from diamond-mining in Kimberley to salmon-fishing for the canneries. He spoke very modestly of what he had done, as though nothing was more natural than to wander off a few thousand miles and take up the threads of life there just as though he had always lived in that particular spot. “But haven’t you got a home?” David asked, thinking of the cottage at Brooklyn.