"Why, I did!" cried Dick.
"No, you didn't, old fellow. If you remember, you were going to do so that first day we met, down there in the cañon by the opening of the King Philip mine, when Pedro interrupted you by remarking that the darkness would catch us if we stayed there any longer."
"I remember. Yes, that's so. Ah! I see. That was why you addressed your letters to the professor instead of to me."
"Yes, that was the reason. It didn't occur to me till I came to write to you that I didn't know your name."
"That was rather funny, wasn't it?" said Dick, laughing. "But I don't see that it made much difference in the end: I got your letters all right."
My partner spoke rather lightly, but Arthur on the other hand looked so serious, not to say solemn, that Dick's levity died out.
"What is it, old man?" he asked. "What difference does it make whether my name is Stanley or anything else?"
"It makes a great difference, Dick," replied Arthur. "I believe"—he paused, hesitating, and then went on, "I'm half afraid to tell you, for fear there might be some mistake after all, but—well—I believe, Dick, that I've found out who you are and where you came from!"
It was Dick's turn to look serious. His face turned a little pale under its sunburn.
"Go on," said he, briefly.