"Yes, sir," I responded.
"Then proceed."
I gave him an account of all our doings in Sydney, beginning with our first effort of reorganizing, and closing with my last act previous to sailing—for all these things seemed plain to my mind. The recital seemed to occupy me several minutes, and I continued to speak freely. He wrote in the book rapidly, and never once interrupted me. I felt that he was taking every word I uttered. When I stopped, he asked:
"Have you anything more to say?"
"No, sir," I answered.
Then he turned the leaves back, and seemed to read from the beginning. He said:
"Very well. Now where are you going?"
"To New Zealand."
He recorded my answer in the book, and then signed his name—I could not see the words of his name, but I felt that he was writing his own signature. He closed the book and walked around to the right side of the bed, shook hands with me, and said:
"Good-by; I will be there before you."