"Since deceased, I hear." "Yes." "One always felt he was a proper cutthroat." "I'd not be sitting here now, but for Mr. Thompson. I'll tell you." Klondyke's eyes began to shine. In a few words and very simply, the Sailor told the story of the Island of San Pedro. "I've sometimes thought since," was his conclusion, "that they were just guying me, knowing they could frighten me out of my wits." "Of course they were," said Klondyke. "That's human nature. But you had rotten luck ever to come to sea. However, you are in smooth waters now. You'll never have to face the high seas again, my boy." "I don't know that," said the Sailor, with a sudden sickness of the heart. "No fear. The wicket's going to roll out plumb. You are the most wonderful chap I have ever met. Now I suppose we had better join the others." They went upstairs and had a gay reception. "I wish you would dance a hornpipe or something," said Silvia, "or cross talk as they did on the brigantine _Excelsior_, else we shall none of us believe that either of you have ever been before the mast at all." "I tell you, Sailor, what we might do," said Klondyke. "If we can remember the words, we might give 'em that old chantey that was always so useful round the Horn. How does it go?" Klondyke sat down at the piano and began to pick out the notes with one finger of each hand. "'Away for Rio!' I'll sing the solo, if I can remember it, and you sing the chorus, Sailor!" Such stern protests were raised by those who knew the capacity of Klondyke's lung power that very reluctantly he gave up this project, yet the very indifferent backing of his shipmate may have carried more weight with him than the pressure of public opinion. When Edward Ambrose and the Sailor had gone their ways and the others apparently had gone to bed, Klondyke doffed the coat of civilization in favor of a very faded and generally disreputable Ramblers' blazer, lit his pipe, and then, in the most comfortable chair he could find, began to read again "The Adventures of Dick Smith on the High Seas." "Yes, he's a wonderful chap," he kept muttering at intervals. After he had been moved to this observation several times, he was interrupted by the reappearance of the Prince, who looked uncommonly serious, in an elaborate quilted silk smoking jacket that he affected in his postprandial hours. "This chap Harper," suddenly opened the Prince. "I want to have a word with you about him." The look on the face of the elder and less reputable brother seemed pretty clearly to show that this desire was not shared. But duty had to be done, and the Prince seated himself doggedly on the high fender, his back to the fire. "Tell me," he said, "what you know about this chap Harper."