“No, sir,” retorted Tom, in a voice sharp with disgust. “Dalton seems to have more money, already, than is good for him. I’ve addressed this envelope to a county institution down in the state that I come from.”
“A public institution?”
“Yes, sir; the home for feeble-minded youth.”
“Don’t take it so hard as that, Halstead,” urged Mr. Seaton. “Had you had a suspicion you would have done whatever lay in your 44 power. I might have warned you against Dalton, but the truth is, I did not imagine he would be right on the scene.”
Saying which, Powell Seaton walked away by himself. He was gravely, even sadly preoccupied. Though Captain Halstead could not even guess what the underlying mystery was, he knew that it seriously affected Mr. Seaton’s plans and fortune. Their charter-man was worried almost past endurance, though bravely trying to hide the fact.
After the consultation of the surgeons, two of them departed aboard the tug, the third remaining to care for the patient. Hank, despite all his bluntness of manner, was proving himself valuable in the sick-room, while Joe spent most of his time in the wireless room of the bungalow, waiting to receive or send any word. So, as evening came, Tom Halstead bestirred himself with the preparation of the evening meal.
By dark there was a considerable wind blowing. Halstead left his cooking long enough to run down and make sure that all was snug and tight aboard the “Restless.” The young skipper had fairly to fight his way against the wind on his return to the bungalow.
“There’s going to be a tough old gale to-night,” Tom muttered to himself, as he halted, 45 a moment, on the porch, to study the weather conditions.
As yet, it was blowing only fairly hard. As the little group at the bungalow seated themselves at supper, however, the storm broke, with a deluge of rain and a sharp roar of thunder.
“This will bother wireless conditions to-night, won’t it?” queried Mr. Seaton, as they ate.