"Better not to-night," spoke the captain.
"Why not?"
"Well, I don't like the looks of the weather. There seems to be a storm coming up, and you'll want all your wits about you if it comes on to blow much."
"Oh, I guess I can steer, even if my ears do ring with the quinine, and my head buzzes," answered Mr. Weatherby. "I must break up this languid feeling."
The Mermaid stopped at a good-sized city that evening, preparatory to making an all-night trip. As the boat touched the dock Nat saw on the end of the pier a telegraph messenger.
"Anybody named Nat Morton aboard?" the boy called, as soon as the ship was made fast.
"That's me," replied Nat.
"Well, I've got a telegram for you. I've been waiting three hours, and you've got to pay for my time."
"That'll be all right," said Mr. Weatherby, who was standing at the rail, beside Nat. "It's probably from Mr. Scanlon," he went on. "I was wondering why we didn't hear from him."
He paid the messenger boy, and Nat tore open the yellow envelope. The message was from Mr. Scanlon, and it was short. It said: