“And it had been there waiting for you for some time?”
“’Twas as yellow as saffron. They didn’t know where I lived when I was to home. And I had been ’round the world in the Scarboro, too.”
“And the letter was from Bolderhead?” I asked, slowly.
“No. That was the funny part of it,” said Tom.
I awoke again and once more felt a thrill of excitement in my veins. I watched the old fellow jealously.
“Didn’t the man—this Carver—belong in Bolderhead?”
“So I supposed. But the letter come from foreign parts.”
“Where?” I asked.
“’Twas from Santiago, Chili.”
“Then he had not gone back to Bolderhead?” I stammered.