“Say,” he called out, “who is Jack Harvey? He is the chap that caught Chambers, isn’t he? Doesn’t he stop over near you, somewhere?”
“Here I am,” said Harvey, taken by surprise. “What do you want?”
“Why, I’ve got a letter for you,” said the postmaster. “It has been here three days. I couldn’t find out where you were.”
“Well, that’s odd,” exclaimed Harvey, stepping back and receiving the envelope. “I never got one before. Say, we came over for something, after all.”
He tore open the envelope and read the letter enclosed.
“Whew!” he exclaimed as he finished. “That’s tough.” And he gave a disconsolate whistle.
“What’s the matter? Nothing bad, I hope,” asked Henry Burns.
In reply, Harvey handed him the letter. It was dated from Boston, and read as follows:
“My dear Jack:—Sorry to have to write you bad news, but you are big enough to stand it, I had to work hard when I was a boy, and perhaps you may now, but you’ll come out all right in the end. I don’t know just where I stand, myself. Investments have gone wrong, and Saunders has brought suit in court, claiming title to the land where the mine is. May beat him out. Don’t know. He is a rascal, but may win.
“Now I haven’t got a dollar to send you, and don’t see where I’ll get any all summer for you, as I shall need every cent to pay bills. I have got to go out to borrow money to pay lawyers, too, to fight the case.
“Too bad, but you will have to come home, or shift for yourself for the summer. Let me know, and I’ll send money for your fare, if you are coming.
“Affectionately, your dad,
“William Harvey.”
An hour later, Jack Harvey and Henry Burns sat in the comfortable cabin of the Viking, talking matters over. The yacht swung lazily at anchor in the still cove. A fire burned in the little stove, and the smoke wreathed out of a funnel on the starboard side. The boys were superintending the baking of a pan of muffins in a sheet-iron oven, while two swinging-lanterns gave them light.