CHAPTER XIV—IN WHICH BEVERIDGE SURPRISES HIMSELF
DICK and Beveridge stood on the wharf at Chicago. The lights that wavered over their faces from the lanterns of the Foote and from the arc lamp overhead showed them sober, silent. The camaraderie of the chase and of the voyage that followed had ceased to be. Beveridge's elation had been subdued by the distressing event of the evening, but still the mind behind his decorously quiet face was teeming with plans and schemes. Dick was gloomy, bewildered. Both seemed to be waiting for something. They stood watching the bustle aboard the revenue cutter as the crew made her snug for the night, until finally Dick spoke:—
“You haven't told me yet what I'm to do next, Bill.”
“What you're to do next?”
“Why—yes. You see—”
“Go on. I'm listening.”