“And we’ve got a good bit of bone and spermaceti, too,” said Captain Rogers. “I consider you one of the crew still, Webb. Or, if you are so determined, you may pull out here and I will give you your hundred dollars as I promised.”
“I feel that I should go home. Captain,” I assured him. “As I told Ben in my note back there at Buenos Ayres, my money and letters were grabbed at the consulate by another fellow——”
“Yes,” interposed Captain Rogers, beginning to hunt in a drawer, “Ben told me about that. And I went up to the consulate and had a talk with Colonel Hefferan about it. The whole thing was a silly mistake on the part of a clerk of his—a mighty fresh clerk. He went off half-cocked and gave the money and letters over to that fellow without saying a word to the consul himself. And they put you out of the consulate, too, I understand?”
“They most certainly did,” I replied.
“If you go to Buenos Ayres, just step in there and make that cheap clerk beg your pardon. He’s ready to. And here,” said Captain Rogers, suddenly, turning toward me, “is something that belongs to you, I believe, Clint Webb.”
There were several letters which he placed in my hand. The top one was addressed in mother’s handwriting, and I seized it with a cry of delight.
“Know ’em, do you?” he said.
“This is from my mother—and this from Ham—and this one from our lawyer——”
“I reckoned they belonged to you. The crimp gave them to me with the rest of that fellow’s belongings, and I took the liberty of sorting out these and saving them for you.”
“They’ve been opened!” I cried.