'Polyte, the pilot, stood, cap in hand, and asked me to one side.

"Pardon, Monsieur," said he, "but those gentilhommes--those fat

one--ees eet she'll was Monsieur Davelson who'll H'I'll got letter on

heem from those lighthouse, heem?"

"Why, yes, 'Polyte--the letter you said would take four days to get to

New Orleans."

'Polyte smiled sheepishly. "He'll wouldn't took four days now,

Monsieur! H'I'll got it h'all those letter here. H'I'll change the

coat on the lighthouse, maybe, h'an H'I'll got the coat of Guillaume

witt' h'all those letter in her, yass?" And he now handed me the

entire packet of letters, which I had supposed left far behind us on

the previous day!

I took the letters from him, and handed all of them but one to

Edouard's old body servant to put in the office mail. The remaining

one I held in the same hand with its mate: and I motioned Davidson

aside to a spot under a live oak as the other began now slowly to move

toward the path from the landing up the hill.

"This is for you," said I, handing him his letter; and told him how it

came to him thus.

"It's from Helena--dear old girl, isn't she a trump, after all!" he

said, tearing open the letter and glancing at it.

"She is a dear girl, Mr. Davidson," said I, stiffly, "yes."

"Why, of course--yes, of course I'd have done it, if I'd got this

before I left the city," said he, "but how can I now?"--holding the

letter open in his hand.

"Do you mean to tell me," I began, but choked in anger mixed with

uncertainty. What was it she had asked of him, offered to him? And was

not Helena's wish a command.

"Yes, I mean to tell you or any one else, I'd do a favor to a lady if

I could; but----"

"What favor, Mr. Davidson?" I demanded icily.

"Well, why 'Mr. Davidson'? Ain't I your pal, in spite of all the muss

you made of my plans? Why, I'm damned if I'll pay you the charter

money at all, after the way you've acted, and all----"

"Mr. Davidson, damn the charter money!"

"That's what I say! What's charter money among friends? All right, if

you can forgive half the charter fee, I'll forgive the other half,

and----"

"What was in the letter from her?"

"It's none of your business, Harry--but still, I don't mind saying

that Miss Emory wrote me and said that if I was still--oh! I say!" he

roared, turning suddenly and poking a finger into my ribs, "if you

haven't got on one of my waistcoats!"

"The one with pink stripes," said I still icily, "and deuced bad ones

they all are. And these clothes I borrowed from my China boy. But

then----"




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