“Why, Captain!” Kit cried; “do you really think so, sir?”
“I don’t say that I think so, or that I don’t think so,” the Captain answered. “I wanted to see whether there was any reasonable theory by which I could account for your father’s being found on a desolate little island in the Pacific. I see that there is; it might easily have happened just as I have described it. So we begin by knowing that it is possible that this man may be your father. And having reached that point we came to a sudden stop through somebody’s remarkable stupidity. Do you see how badly this inquiry has been managed?”
“Yes, sir,” Kit answered, “I think I do. They ought to have sent a photograph of the man and a full description.”
“Of course they ought!” the Captain declared, thumping his fist down on the desk. “The fullest description possible—his height, weight, color of his eyes, condition of his teeth, marks on his body, every possible particular. I suppose we must be satisfied that the State Department has taken the trouble to give even this much information about the case; but it would have been easy to give a little more. However, this oversight does not put an end to the business; it only entails a great waste of time. Now you have been thinking about this thing all day; what has it occurred to you ought to be done?”
“Well, sir,” Kit answered, “it seemed to me that the best way would be to write to the American consul at Wellington, and ask him to send a description of the man. If it is my father, he is nothing like sixty years old, but what he has gone through may make him look much older than he really is.”
“That’s it,” the Captain agreed. “That is exactly the proper thing for you to do. And write from here, at once; but have the answer sent to your home in America, for there is no telling where you may be. Now tell me something about your father. How tall a man was he?”
“He was just five feet ten and a half inches, sir,” Kit replied. “I remember that very well, because he used to measure me when I was little and say, ‘I wonder whether you will ever be as tall as your father, youngster?’ It hardly looked likely then, but I am within about an inch of that now, and still growing.”
“Very well; put that down on this slip of paper; height, five feet ten and a half inches. Was he stout, or slender?”
“Just about medium, sir,” Kit went on; “I think he weighed about one hundred and sixty pounds. And he was dark in the hands and face, from the sun, and had dark brown eyes and hair to match, the hair just a little bit curly, like mine.”
“Put it all down,” the Captain said. “Were his teeth good or bad?”