“I suppose the color turned, too, at the same time.”
“Yes,” answered the man, “it did indeed. You needn’t laugh. Scientific men will tell you that a man’s hair often changes color in a single night.”
“Well, good-by,” said Herbert, “I’ll leave you to settle that with the scientists.”
Three weeks passed by after this amusing episode and Herbert received no further replies from the personal that he had inserted in the Herald. He was reading the paper one afternoon, and while running his trained eye down the many columns of small advertisements, happened to see his own name in print. He looked closer, and this is what he read:
“If Herbert Harkins, son of the late David Harkins, of Cleverly, New Jersey, will make his whereabouts known to the undersigned, he may learn of something to his advantage. Write without delay to Captain Thomas Janson, Anchor Inn, Jersey City, N. J.”
Feverish with anxiety, Herbert immediately sent a letter in response to this advertisement. Within forty-eight hours after that he received an answer, written in a large, sprawling hand, inviting him to call on Captain Janson at his domicile in Jersey City. He responded without delay. He found Anchor Inn to be an obscure hotel in a deserted part of the town. It was a popular resort for seafaring men. Upon inquiry for Captain Janson, he was informed that the Captain had removed that very morning to a new two-story house which he had erected on the outskirts of the city. He had left a message for Herbert, however, giving him explicit directions where he could find his new domicile.
Herbert listened very carefully, and then made his way to the address that had been given him. He found it to be the quaintest looking house it had ever been his good fortune to gaze upon. The front of it was shaped like the prow of a boat, and under the eaves of the house was a wooden effigy of a mermaid, shaped and painted like those used upon sailing craft in the Eastern waters. He rang the bell, and the call was answered by a colored youth dressed up in blue clothing, with brass buttons, to represent a cabin boy. He was ushered into a small, low-ceilinged apartment which resembled the captain’s quarters upon a boat. The beds on either side of the room were fitted up to resemble bunks. The windows had been so constructed that they were perfect reproductions of port holes. A little desk, a brass-rimmed clock, such as can be seen in the cabins of pleasure yachts, a coil of rope, a large marine glass, and cheap colored pictures of the admirals of the United States Navy adorned the walls of this strangely furnished room.
Presently the door of an adjoining apartment opened and a big, brawny man, with the rolling gait of a sailor, entered the room. His face was as red as a boiled lobster; his hands were thick-skinned and broad. He had wide shoulders and—this detail made an immediate impression upon Herbert—he also possessed a heavy shock of red hair. The identification was complete. This man, beyond a doubt, was the person who had been with his father on that eventful night.
“Avast there, my hearty!” shouted the newcomer, putting out his broad hand to meet the outstretched palm of his caller; “what are you doing aboard my craft?”
“My name is Herbert Harkins,” said the young man, “and I came here in response to your letter.”