“On this bit of paper is inscribed in red ink the name of the deserted craft, if it is known, together with a minute picture showing the attitude of the vessel, whether bottom up, sunken at the stern, or what not.
“These little pictures are reproduced on the next pilot chart (which is a monthly publication), and changes are made in the chart as frequently as the derelicts are reported.”
“Seems to me, ’Doniram,” remarked Caleb, puffing away with vast content at the pipe—“seems to me you know a good deal about this derelict business.”
The little man seemed strangely confused at this, and his jolly face blushed a deep red as he shifted his position restlessly.
“Well,” he said slowly. “I have been looking it up lately. I—I had an idea—a scheme, you know—that caused me to study the matter some. Seems odd, too, doesn’t it, with the matter of the Silver Swan coming right on top of it?”
But here Brandon, whose thoughts had been wandering a little, interrupted any further questioning on the sailor’s part.
“I’m dreadfully sorry that that rascally Leroyd got away with the letter father wrote me,” he said reflectively.
Caleb looked at him with a smile, and removed his pipe from between his lips.
“Did I say he had got away with it?” he said.
“Eh?” interjected Adoniram, quickly.