At the supper that night, which began at half-past two and lasted for several hours, because there was so much to talk about, Dick made an important discovery. He had had very little to do with any women but his mother and sister; but when he saw Darling watching with admiring eyes every move that Florrie made, and helping her to the choice bits of celery and the fattest oysters, and saw Florrie showing Darling many little attentions, he was shrewd enough to draw a conclusion that pleased him very much. “You must appreciate me while you have me, mother,” Dick laughed while they were eating; “and you must pet me up as much as you can, sis, for Porto Rico is all settled. This is Tuesday night (or rather it’s Wednesday morning now), and I’m to sail on Thursday morning at eleven o’clock. I’m to go in a freight steamer, too, but she’s said to be a good, safe one; a British steamer called the Smeaton Tower, that’s chartered by the company. The next passenger ship doesn’t sail for ten days, so I engaged passage in the freighter, which goes on Thursday. I’m to share the captain’s cabin with him; and if he turns out to be a good fellow, it ought to be a pleasant voyage.” Dick insisted that his mother and Florrie and Darling must all go to see him off, because the Smeaton Tower was lying in the upper bay near the Statue of Liberty, and he would be taken off to her with the captain and supercargo in a tug from the foot of Wall Street, and it would give them a pleasant little sail. “Having a supercargo I think is a good point,” he laughed. “It’s quite a reminder of Robinson Crusoe, isn’t it, to be talking about the supercargo. He’s the man, of course, who has charge of the cargo, and sees that the right stuff is landed at each port. You know the steamer goes all around the island, touching at every port. And there’ll be no chance to send any letters up till I return, because our steamer will be the first one back. But I’ve left eight Mexican letters in the office, so you’ll have the extreme pleasure of seeing my name in the paper two or three times a week while I’m away.” “And you can’t imagine how kind the old man is, Darling,” he went on. “I asked him for permission to write some letters for Benedict and Jackson’s Syndicate and the Illustrated Weekly, and he told me I should write wherever I chose; that he was glad I had the opportunity.” “He’s a brick!” Darling exclaimed. “He never forgets that he was a young fellow once himself.” When Dick climbed aboard the Smeaton Tower he had barely time to wave his handkerchief to his friends, for the tug turned about immediately for the city, and the steamer was put under way.