So one morning Reginald had an interview with his messmates.
“I myself,” he said, “must have already collected over twenty thousand pounds in nuggets and pearls, and will willingly give of this my store five hundred pounds worth of gold by weight, if you, Captain Dickson, and you, Hall, will do the same. Thus shall we restore reason and happiness to a fellow-creature, and one of the best-hearted sailors that ever lived and sailed the salt, salt seas.”
Both Dickson and Hall must need shake hands with Reginald, and, while the tears stood in his eyes, the former said:
“That will we, my dear boy, and God will bless your riches, and restore you all your desires whenever we reach our British shores again.”
And so that very night there was no more happy man than Johnson.
Another Saturday night in the men’s mess. Dickson willingly spliced the main-brace twice over, and the night passed pleasantly on with yarn and song till midnight. But the thief Harry was never mentioned. It was better thus. Already, perhaps, the man had met his doom, and so they forgave him. Yet somehow this incident rankled in Reginald’s bosom, and made him very uneasy.
“I say,” he said to Dickson one day, “I confess that the flight of Harry Jenkins with poor Johnson’s gold has made me suspicious.”
“And me so as well,” said Dickson.
“I mean,” said Reginald, “to bury my treasure, and I have already selected a spot.”
“You have? Then I shall bury mine near yours. I have ever liked you, doctor, since first we met, and we have been as brothers.”