And then came the voice of Peters, cool and drawling: "Some one's left a message on the box."
As we span around he turned it over atilt, so that all might see the bold letters, scarred in lead, of that laconic legend—all but Bartlet, who fumbled for his spectacles. "Writ with a Snider bullet, I take it," continued the trader. "One of them soft-nosed kind as supplied to heathen parts for a blessin' of civilization."
"Read it, can't you?" begged the cap'n.
And this was the notice Jeckol read:
***
The Crew of the Schooner Timothy S. of Cooktown
that tried a cast with fortune and turned
a deuce. Barange Bay, Jan. 22, 19—
| J. Mullhall, master | Bamba, Koho |
| B. Smythe, mate | Kakwe, Jack-Jack |
| Henry New | Menomi, Frank |
Hic finis fandi
***
Cap'n Bartlet removed his hat and wiped away a steam of sweat with deliberate care and a red-barred kerchief. "Sounds natural," he observed, clearing his throat. "Though I never did make much of that 'hic' language."