"Well, for one thing, he knows too much. Why, he knows everything, he does. Art, literature, politics, law, finance, and draw poker have no secrets from him. He's been everywhere--and back--twice; he speaks a dozen different languages. He out-argued me on poultry-raising and I know more about that than any man living. He can handle a drill or a coach-and-four; he can tell all about the art of ancient Babylon; and he beat me playing cribbage, which shows that he ain't on the level. He's the best-informed man outside of a university, and he drinks tea of an afternoon--with his legs crossed and the saucer balanced on his heel. Now, it takes years of hard work for an honest man to make a success at one thing, but Gordon never failed at anything. I ask you if a living authority on all the branches of human endeavor and a man who can beat me at 'crib' doesn't make you suspicious." "Not at all. I've beaten you myself!" "I was sick," said Captain Brennan. "The man is brilliant and well educated and wealthy. It's only natural that he should excite the jealousy of a weaker intellect." Johnny opened his lips for an explosion, then changed his mind and agreed sourly. "He's got money, all right, and he knows how to spend it. He and his valet occupied three cabins on this ship. They say his quarters at Hope are palatial." "My dear grampus, the mere love of luxury doesn't argue that a person is dishonest." "Would you let a hired man help you on with your underclothes?" demanded the mariner. "There's nothing criminal about it." "Humph! Mrs. Gerard is different. She's all class! You don't mind her having a maid and speaking French when she runs short of English. Her daughter is like her." "I haven't seen Miss Gerard." "If you'd stir about the ship instead of wearing out my Morris chair you'd have that pleasure. She was on deck all morning." Captain Brennan fell silent and poked with a stubby forefinger at the ice in his glass. "Well, out with it!" said O'Neil after a moment. "I'd like to know the inside story of Curtis Gordon and this girl's mother." "Why bother your head about something that doesn't concern you?" The speaker rose and began to pace the cabin floor, then, in an altered tone, inquired, "Tell me, are you going to land me and my horses at Kyak Bay?" "That depends on the weather. It's a rotten harbor; you'll have to swim them ashore." "Suppose it should be rough?" "Then we'll go on, and drop you there coming back. I don't want to be caught on that shore with a southerly wind, and that's the way it usually blows." "I can't wait," O'Neil declared. "A week's delay might ruin me. Rather than go on I'd swim ashore myself, without the horses."