It was not long afterward before a stranger approached the boys who were still seated and said, “One of you, I am afraid had a letter to-night which belonged to me.”
“Yes, I guess we did,” said Fred quickly, rising as he spoke. “My name is Fred Button and the clerk said that this letter was meant for Mr. Ferdinand Button.”
“That’s my name,” explained the stranger, “and the letter was for me. Did you read it?”
“I shall have to acknowledge that I did,” answered Fred. “I didn’t suspect until I had done that that it really belonged to any one else.”
Somewhat confused by his confession Fred noted the bearing of the man before him more carefully.
It was plain to him now that the stranger was quiet in his manner, gentlemanly in his bearing and possessed of a quick intelligence that enabled him to perceive many a thing which his younger companions might have lost. The stranger was about thirty-five years of age and his bronzed face was nearly the color of that of the captain of the Gadabout.
“Have you been here long?” inquired John.
“I came this morning.”
“I thought perhaps you had been on the lake—”
“I have been on the lake,” interrupted the stranger. “Indeed, I spend much of my time on the lake. I am sorry you had the misfortune to receive this letter which apparently was meant for me.”