Now not a shred of hope was left. What would Mr. Ryder think, and what would he do when the steamer arrived in Sitka without the son for whom he was so anxiously watching? He was certain to meet Judge Ames and to see the trunk. How terrible would be his anxiety! Would he come to Victoria by return steamer in search of his boy, or would he wait for news of him by the next boat? In the former case he could not possibly get here in less than two weeks, and perhaps not so soon. At any rate Phil was thrown upon his own resources for many days to come, and during that time how should he obtain food and lodging?
While vaguely trying to form some plan, he walked slowly back into the city, blind to the beauty of the day, deaf to the singing of birds, and careless of the scent of myriads of flowers which form so beautiful and striking a feature of this far western city. Here was the situation with which this story opens and to which we have been so long in coming.
Hardly noticing the direction of his footsteps, Phil reached Government Street, and walked slowly down that busy thoroughfare. Suddenly there came a quick footfall behind him, a hand was clapped on his shoulder, and a hearty friendly voice exclaimed, “[Is it Philip Ryder or his ghost?] Why, old fellow! what on earth are you doing here?”
[“‘IS IT PHILIP RYDER OR HIS GHOST!’”]
The poor lad’s heart gave a great throb of gratitude as he turned and found himself face to face with Serge Belcofsky.
[CHAPTER VII]
THE VALUE OF A TRUE FRIEND
The meeting of Phil Ryder and Serge Belcofsky, who had parted months before in far-away New London, and who now so unexpectedly ran across each other in the busiest street of the westernmost city of the continent, was one of the happiest that ever took place in Victoria. Phil was so overcome by it that for a moment his voice failed him, and he could only hold his friend’s hand in both of his, and gaze at him as though fearful that he might vanish as suddenly as he had appeared.