"Ever been oystering?"
"No, sir. I never saw an oyster-boat before."
"Don't know whether you'll do or not," said the sailor. "But come aboard and talk to the captain. I'll be back in a minute. Wait for me here."
The sailor hurried away, to continue his quest for the missing Hawley. Alec Cunningham returned to the pile of burlap sacks and dug out an old, battered valise. Then he carefully piled the burlap sacks in order again, and when Sailor Bishop returned, he was standing near the end of the pier, stamping his feet and thrashing his arms about his sides, in an evident effort to get warm.
"Come on," said the sailor, and the two climbed cautiously from the pier to the ship's rigging and then dropped to her deck. Carefully they made their way across boat after boat, until at last they reached the Bertha B. Sailor Bishop led the way to the cabin and entered, followed by the stranger.
"I couldn't find Jim nowhere, Cap," explained the sailor, "but I picked up this fellow here. He ain't never ketched oysters, but maybe you could use him at that."
Captain Bagley stepped forward and looked critically at the stranger. He saw before him a tall, rangy lad of eighteen years, keen of face, with dark hair, strong nose, mouth, and chin, and with intelligence plainly stamped on his open, honest countenance.
"What's your name?" demanded the captain.
"Alec C-C-C-Cunningham, sir," replied the lad.
"Do you stutter always?"