"I only—did—what any man would have done," said Alan, taking the offered hand.
"I don't know about that. Anyhow, it's not every man could have done it. I'd been hanging in that rigging all day and most of the night before. There were five more of us but they dropped off. I knew it was no use to try to swim ashore alone—the backwater would be too much for me. I must have been a lot of trouble. That old woman says I've been raving for a week. And, by the way I feel, I fancy I'll be stretched out here another week before I'll be able to use my pins. Who are these Olivers anyhow? The old woman wouldn't talk about the family."
"Don't you know them?" asked Alan in astonishment. "Isn't your name Harmon?"
"That's right—Harmon—Alfred Harmon, first mate of the schooner, Annie M."
"Alfred! I thought your name was Frank!"
"Frank was my twin brother. We were so much alike our own mammy couldn't tell us apart. Did you know Frank?"
"No. This family did. Miss Oliver thought you were Frank when she saw you."
"I don't feel much like myself but I'm not Frank anyway. He's dead, poor chap—got shot in a spat with Chinese pirates three years ago."
"Dead! Man, are you speaking the truth? Are you certain?"
"Pop sure. His mate told me the whole story. Say, preacher, what's the matter? You look as if you were going to keel over."