He was a tall and fine-looking gentleman, about forty years of age. He gave his name as Oscar Ranson, and said he was a lawyer in New York.
"I have been spending a few weeks at Port Jefferson on Long Island, and yesterday set out for a two days' cruise up the shore," he explained. "But I've had enough of it," he added with a shudder.
We made Mr. Ranson as comfortable as possible, and, while he was sipping a cup of hot coffee, he asked me about myself, saying that I didn't look much like a sailor.
And then I told him my story. Of course he was surprised.
"I wouldn't have believed it possible!" he exclaimed. "But you have done me a good turn, and now I'll do as much for you."
"Do you know Mr. Ira Mason, a lawyer?" I asked.
"Quite well."
"He is a friend of mine. He has an office in the same building with my uncle."
"Yes? What is your uncle's name?"
"Mr. Felix Stillwell."
At the mention of my uncle's name, Mr. Oscar Ranson jumped to his feet.
