The outcast spoke again.
"I mustn't waste your time. But it's so rare to find one of my own world to talk to. Listen to me, now! You stood up for me at San Salvador and in return.... You're not a rich man, Okewood?"
I laughed.
"I have to work for my living, Adams," I answered.
"Good, good! Then you will appreciate the more the fortune I am going to put in your way. An Eldorado to make you rich beyond the dreams of...."
He broke off, racked by a terrible fit of coughing. The spasm left him weak and gasping.
His talk about fortunes and the rest made me think he was a trifle light-headed. So I made to rise from my seat.
"You're talking too much," I said soothingly. "I think I'll leave you now and come back another day!"
But the beach-comber thrust out a hand—such a thin and wasted hand!—and clutched my sleeve. He could not speak for the moment, but he cast me a despairing look eloquent in its appeal to me to stay.
"A fortune," he gasped out when his breath began to come back to him. "I'll make you rich! I want to show my gratitude to the man who knows what is due to a.... a.... a gentleman!"