And now, as Captain Dobbs is anxious to be away, I will close, with every assurance of my deepest love for you and father.
Mrs. Smith-Jones’ eyes were dim with tears—tears of thanksgiving and happiness.
“And to think,” she exclaimed, “that after all he is alive and well—quite well. His cough has left him—that is the best part of it, and he is surrounded by interesting people—just what Waldo needed. For some time I feared, before he sailed, that he was devoting himself too closely to his studies and to the little coterie of our own set which surrounded him. This experience will be broadening. Of course these people may be slightly provincial, but it is evident that they possess a certain culture and refinement—otherwise my Waldo would never have described them as ‘interesting.’ The coarse, illiterate, or vulgar could never prove ‘interesting’ to a Smith-Jones.”
Captain Cecil Burlinghame nodded politely—he was thinking of the naked, hairy man-brutes he had seen within the interior of the island.
“It is evident, Burlinghame,” said Mr. Smith-Jones, “that you overlooked a portion of this island. It would seem, from Waldo’s letter, that there must be a colony of civilized men and women somewhere upon it. Of course it is possible that it may be further inland than you penetrated.”
Burlinghame shook his head.
“I am puzzled,” he said. “We circled the entire coast, yet nowhere did we see any evidence of a man-improved harbor, such as one might have reason to expect were there really a colony of advanced humans in the interior. There would have been at least a shack near the beach in one of the several natural harbors which indent the coast line was there even an occasional steamer touching for purposes of commerce with the colonists.
“No, my friends,” he continued, “as much as I should like to believe it my judgment will not permit me to place any such translation upon Waldo’s letter.
“That he is safe and happy seems evident, and that is enough for us to know. Now it should be a simple matter for us to find him—if it is still your desire to send for him.”
“He may already have left for Boston,” said Mrs. Smith-Jones; “his letter was written several months ago.”
Again Burlinghame shook his head.
“Do not bank on that, my dear madam,” he said kindly. “It may be fifty years before another vessel touches that forgotten shore—unless it be one which you yourselves send.”
John Alden Smith-Jones sprang to his feet, and commenced pacing up and down the library.
“How soon can the Priscilla be put in shape to make the return voyage to the island?” he asked.
“It can be done in a week, if necessary,” replied Burlinghame.
“And you will accompany her, in command?”
“Gladly.”
“Good!” exclaimed Mr. Smith-Jones. “And now, my friend, let us lose no time in starting our preparations. I intend accompanying you.”
“And I shall go too,” said Mrs. Smith-Jones.
The two men looked at her in surprise.
“But my dear!” cried her husband, “there is no telling what hardships and dangers we may encounter—you could never stand such a trip.”
“I am going,” said Mrs. Smith-Jones, firmly. “I know my Waldo. I know his refined and sensitive nature. I know that I am fully capable of enduring whatever he may have endured. He tells me that he is among interesting people. Evidently there is nothing to fear, then, from the inhabitants of the island, and furthermore I wish personally to meet the people he has been living with. I have always been careful to surround Waldo with only the nicest people, and if any vulgarizing influences have been brought to bear upon him since he has been beyond my mature guidance I wish to know it, that I may determine how to combat their results.”
That was the end of it. If Mrs. Smith-Jones knew her son, Mr. Smith-Jones certainly knew his wife.
A week later the Priscilla sailed from Boston harbor on her long journey around the Horn to the south seas.
Most of the old crew had been retained. The first and second officers were new men. The former, William Stark, had come to Burlinghame well recommended. From the first he seemed an intelligent and experienced officer. That he was inclined to taciturnity but enhanced his value in the eyes of Burlinghame. Stark was inclined to be something of a martinet, so that the crew soon took to hating him cordially, but as his display of this unpleasant trait was confined wholly to trivial acts the men contented themselves with grumbling among themselves, which is the prerogative and pleasure of every good sailorman. Their loyalty to the splendid Burlinghame, however, was not to be shaken by even a dozen Starks.
The monotonous and uneventful journey to the vicinity of ten south and a hundred and fifty west was finally terminated. At last land showed on the starboard bow. Excitement reigned supreme throughout the trim, white Priscilla. Mrs. Smith-Jones peered anxiously and almost constantly through her binoculars, momentarily expecting to see the well-known thin and emaciated figure of her Waldo Emerson standing upon the beach awaiting them.
For two weeks they sailed along the coast, stopping here and there for a day while parties tramped inland in search of signs of civilized habitation. They lay two days in the harbor where the Sally Corwith had lain. There they pressed farther inland than at any other point, but all without avail. It was Burlinghame’s plan to first make a cursory survey of the entire coast, with only short incursions toward the center of the island. Should this fail to discover the missing Waldo the party was then to go over the ground once more, remaining weeks or months as might be required to thoroughly explore every foot of the island.
It was during the pursuit of the initial portion of the program that they dropped anchor in the selfsame harbor upon whose waters
