“What do you say, Serge?”
“I’d love to do it.”
“So would I.”
“I don’t know what else we can do, anyway. I’m sure we don’t want to go to China under the circumstances, and we haven’t any money to live on here while waiting for some schooner to come along and take us away.”
“No,” said Phil; “and, as it is now well on into August, we might have to wait all winter, which would be horrid.”
“It would be a splendid chance to see the country.”
“So it would, and that is just what I came North for; while, thus far, I haven’t seen much except the waters surrounding it, and a few islands. If it wasn’t for my father, I’d say ‘yes’ quick enough. But what will he think?—in fact, what must he be thinking now? If I could only get word to him, somehow, that I was all right, and that there wasn’t the slightest cause for anxiety.”
“And if I could only send some comforting message to my poor dear mother,” reflected Serge.
“There is a chance to do that,” said Gerald Hamer, “which I suppose I ought to have mentioned in the first place. This steamer is obliged to stop somewhere near the Pribyloff Islands on her return voyage, to drop the native pilot who belongs there, and whom they are under contract to return. You might send letters by him as far as that, and run the chance of their being forwarded. I suppose you might make some arrangement to go that far yourselves as well, though I am afraid Captain Kuhn would charge a tidy sum for your passage. Still, if you want to ask him, and he is well enough to see you, I will—”