"Did you ever see a feller like this?" put in Hiram, handing over the photograph of his father.
Lopez looked at the photograph, started, took it in his hands, and gave it a more careful scrutiny.
"As I live," said he, "it is the picture of my good friend, Captain Hogan, of the steam yacht Sylvia. Look!" and Lopez lifted and leveled a forefinger.
They were standing in front of the curio store, and the stores all along that street overlooked the bay. Lopez indicated a trim-looking craft, painted white, and with the sun striking gleams from dazzling brasswork, floating at anchor far from the shore line.
"That," continued Lopez, "is my good friend's boat. Her home port is San Diego, and she can be chartered by any one with the price. Hogan is at the island for a few days, looking for customers."
Disappointment struck heavily at Hiram Hill's heart and was reflected in his face.
"You say his name is Hogan?" he asked.
"Yes."
"What's time whole of his handle?"
"Uriah Hogan. Strange you do not know, since you have his picture."