“All right, Massa Curtis.”
“What is your usual time between New York and San Francisco?” asked Curtis, addressing the mate.
“From four to six months. Four months is very short, six months very long. We ought to get there in five months, or perhaps a little sooner, with average weather.”
“Very well. I believe there is no more to be said. Good-night!”
“Good-night, sir.”
“So he is well out of the way for five months!” soliloquized Curtis. “In five months much may happen. Before that time I hope to be in possession of my uncle’s property. Then I can snap my fingers at fate.”
Chapter XXI.
A Seasick Passenger.
The good ship Columbia had got fifty miles under way before Dodger opened his eyes.
He looked about him languidly at first, but this feeling was succeeded by the wildest amazement, as his eyes took in his unusual surroundings.
He had gone to sleep on a bed—he found himself on awakening in a ship’s bunk.