When asking Randolph to write him at this hotel the young skipper had planned to run up each day from Port Tampa. Now, however, being at the hotel all the time, young Halstead chafed as the time slipped by without the arrival of the letter he expected.
This afternoon, realizing that there was no possibility of a letter before the morrow, Halstead slipped off alone, following the street car track up into the main thoroughfare of Tampa.
Presently, in the throng, Halstead found himself unconsciously trailing after Tremaine and young Mr. Dixon.
“By the way, you’re known at the bank here, aren’t you, Tremaine?” inquired Dixon.
“Very well, indeed,” smiled the older man. “In fact, I’ve entertained the president, Mr. Haight, in New York.”
“Then I wish you’d come in with me, a moment, and introduce me,” suggested the younger man.
“With pleasure, my boy.”
As they stepped inside the bank Halstead passed on without having discovered himself to either of the others.
Henry Tremaine, inside the bank, led the way to Mr. Haight’s office.
“Mr. Haight,” he said to the man who sat at the sole desk in the room, “my friend, Mr. Dixon, has asked me to present him to you. He’s a good fellow, and one of my yachting party.”