there was a suspicion of blood on the handkerchief. One sleeve of his shirt had disappeared, and so had his cap; and when the clerk came to take a second look at him, he saw that, although his uniform was dry, it looked as though it had been dumped in the harbor—as indeed it had.
"Well, well," exclaimed the clerk, as soon as he had in some measure recovered from his astonishment. "What in the world have you been doing to yourself, Mr.—ah—er—Barton?" he added, consulting the register to make sure of the name. "Did the steamer sink or burn up?"
"What steamer? I don't know anything about a steamer."
"Why, didn't you tell the clerk whom I relieved that you were going to take the night boat for Bloomingdale?"
"Not much I didn't. I wasn't here last night, and furthermore, my name isn't Barton. There's my name, Roy Sheldon; and I came to town yesterday afternoon in company with that fellow and that one," said the new-comer, pointing out Joe's name and Arthur's.
