It was several minutes before the steward could convince himself that this upstanding, clear-eyed, bronze-skinned fellow, attired like a Labradorman, was the pale, listless unhappy lad they had lost the previous fall. Then he hastened to Captain Barcus with the news, and Captain Barcus and the whole crew gathered around Charley and welcomed him as they would have welcomed a returned hero, to his great confusion.
"Now a wireless to your father!" beamed Captain Barcus, when Charley had been duly greeted.
Mr. Bruce Norton was in his private office on William Street, in New York City, dictating his morning mail, when a boy laid a telegram upon his desk. He finished the letter he was dictating, before opening the message, and then he read:
"Will arrive in St. John's July twentieth, on mail boat from Labrador. Had a great winter. Killed a wolf and shot a white bear. Wire how you and mother are. Love to you both. Cannot wait to see you.
"Charley."
Mr. Norton was upon his feet before he had read the last line. He stuffed the message into his pocket, seized his hat, and as he bolted from his office he shouted to his secretary, who now filled the place formerly occupied by Mr. Henry Wise:
"Get sleeper reservations for Mrs. Norton and myself to St. John's at once!"
"For to-day?" asked the secretary.
"Yes! Yes! First train possible!" and Mr. Norton disappeared in an elevator.