“Yes,” came the answer in an indifferent tone. “Several times.”
“Well, it’s got me now, right by the throat.”
Presently he called, “Dave, while you’re in there I wish you’d look in my luggage and see what newspapers are folded up with it. I have a dim recollection that a _Provincetown Advocate_ came about the time I was taken sick and I never opened it.
“Ah, that’s it!” he exclaimed when Dave emerged presently, holding out the newspaper. “Look at the cut across the top of the first page. Old Provincetown itself. It’s more for the name of the town printed across that picture of the harbor than for the news that I keep on taking the paper. Ordinarily, I never do more than glance at the news items, but there’s time to-day to read even the advertisements. You’ve no idea how good those familiar old names look to me.”
He read some of them aloud, smiling over the memories they awakened. But he read without an auditor, for Dave found he had business with one of the missionaries, and put off to attend to it. On his return he was greeted with the announcement:
“Dave, I want to get out of here. I’m sure there must be a big pile of mail waiting for me right now in Hong-Kong, and I’m willing to risk the trip. Let’s start back to-morrow.”
Several days later they were in Hong-Kong, enjoying the luxuries of civilization in the big hotel. Still weak from his recent illness and fatigued by the hardships of his journey, Doctor Huntingdon did not go down to lunch the day of their arrival. It was served in his room, and as he ate he stopped at intervals to take another dip into the pile of mail which had been brought up to him.
In his methodical way he opened the letters in the order of their arrival, beginning with the one whose postmark showed the earliest date. It took a long time to finish eating on account of these pauses. Hop Ching was bringing in his coffee when Dave came back, having had not only his lunch in the diningroom, but a stroll through the streets afterward. He found Doctor Huntingdon with a photograph propped up in front of him, studying it intently while Hop Ching served the coffee. The Doctor passed the photograph to Dave.
“Take it over to the window where you can get a good light on it,” he commanded. “Isn’t that a peach of a picture? That’s my little daughter and the old friend I’m always quoting. The two seem to be as great chums as he and I used to be. I don’t want to bore you, Dave, but I would like to read you this letter that she wrote to her mother, and her mother sent on to me. In the first place I’m proud of her writing such a letter. I had no idea she could express herself so well, and secondly the subject matter makes it an interesting document.
“On my little girl’s birthday Uncle Darcy took her out in his boat, _The Betsey_. The name of that old boat certainly does sound good to me! He told her--but wait! I’d rather read it to you in her own words. It’ll give you such a good idea of the old man. Perhaps I ought to explain that he Had a son who got into trouble some ten years ago, and left home. He was just a little chap when I saw him last, hardly out of dresses, the fall I left home for college.