tremulous, most of the travelers were bedecked with leis, and a confused little crowd milled about the foot of the plank.
Dan Winterslip pushed his way forward and ran up the sharp incline. As he reached the deck he encountered an old acquaintance, Hepworth, the second officer.
“You’re the man I’m looking for,” he cried.
“How are you, sir,” Hepworth said. “I didn’t see your name on the list.”
“No, I’m not sailing. I’m here to ask a favor.”
“Glad to oblige, Mr. Winterslip.”
Winterslip thrust a letter into his hand. “You know my cousin Roger in ’Frisco. Please give him that—him and no one else—as soon after you land as you possibly can. I’m too late for the mail—and I prefer this way anyhow. I’ll be mighty grateful.”
“Don’t mention it—you’ve been very kind to me and I’ll be only too happy—I’m afraid you’ll have to go ashore, sir. Just a minute, there—” He took Winterslip’s arm and gently urged him back on to the plank. The instant Dan’s feet touched the dock, the plank was drawn up behind him.
For a moment he stood, held by the fascination an Islander always feels at sight of a ship outward bound. Then he turned and walked slowly through the pier-shed. Ahead of him he caught a glimpse of a slender lithe figure which he recognized at once as that of Dick Kaohla, the grandson of Kamaikui. He quickened his pace and joined the boy.
“Hello, Dick,” he said.
“Hello.” The brown face was sullen, unfriendly.
“You haven’t been to see me for a long time,” Dan Winterslip said. “Everything all right?”
