"Well, I'd like your company, first-rate. But—" Phil drew a deep breath—"I'd hate to see you go on a wild-goose chase. Think of traveling thou sands of miles and then being disappointed at the end of the trip. That old sailor may simply be crazy."
"I don't think so. Why should he mention a lost child—a boy?"
"Well, that is the only thing that makes it look as if there was something in the story. But couldn't I do the looking for you?"
"No, I'd prefer to do that myself. Besides, you must remember, that sailor did not come directly from Cavasa Island to this country. So, whoever was on the island—I mean the person I may be interested in—may have gone elsewhere—in which case I should want to follow him."
"I see. Well, Dave, do what you think is best, and may good luck go with you!" Phil had said; and there the conversation on the subject had come to a close.
It was not until a week later that Dave had called on Billy Dill again—to find the old tar sitting on a porch of the sanitarium, smoking his pipe contentedly.
"On deck again, my hearty!" had been the greeting. "Give us your flipper," and a warm hand shake had followed.
But the visit had been productive of little good.
