"Would you be so kind as to tell me—"
He broke off abruptly as he recognized Percy.
"By the Great Horn Spoon!" he almost shouted, "if it isn't P. Whittington! Percy, old man, what do you mean by hiding yourself away offshore in a lonesome spot like this? Come aboard! Come aboard! The old crowd's there—Ben Brimmer and Martin Sayles and Mordaunt and Mack and Barden. I've chartered the Arethusa, and invited 'em to spend a month with me along the New England coast. We're not having a time of it—oh no! or my name isn't Chauncey Pike!"
His eyes dwelt curiously on the details of Percy's costume and occupation.
"What you masquerading for? Hiding from the sheriff?"
Percy met his gaze evenly. His estimate of men and the things that make life worth living had undergone a material change during the last two months. Pike's jesting flowed off him like water off a duck. He introduced the other members of Spurling & Company, and Pike greeted them cordially.
"I want you all to take dinner on board with us to-night. We've got a first-class chef, and I'll have him do his prettiest. 'Tisn't every day you run across an old friend."
Jim was inclined to demur, but Pike would not take no for an answer, and he finally gave in when Percy added his entreaties to those of the yachtsman.
"Signal the yacht when you're through, Perce," said the latter as he rowed away, "and I'll send ashore for you. I know your friends here will excuse you for a while if you come aboard and talk over old times with us."
"Better let me set you ashore now," said Jim, "so you can wash up and change your clothes."