“Don't know,” said the clerk, and with the simplicity of a monarch offered us the spectacle of his broad back.
What might have happened next I dread to picture, for Pinkerton's excitement had been growing steadily, and now burned dangerously high; but we were spared extremities by the intervention of a second clerk.
“Why, Mr. Dodd!” he exclaimed, running forward to the counter. “Glad to see you, sir! Can I do anything in your way?”
How virtuous actions blossom! Here was a young man to whose pleased ears I had rehearsed “Just before the battle, mother,” at some weekly picnic; and now, in that tense moment of my life, he came (from the machine) to be my helper.
“Captain Trent, of the wreck? Oh yes, Mr. Dodd; he left about twelve; he and another of the men. The Kanaka went earlier by the City of Pekin; I know that; I remember expressing his chest. Captain Trent? I'll inquire, Mr. Dodd. Yes, they were all here. Here are the names on the register; perhaps you would care to look at them while I go and see about the baggage?”
I drew the book toward me, and stood looking at the four names all written in the same hand—rather a big and rather a bad one: Trent, Brown, Hardy, and (instead of Ah Sing) Jos. Amalu.
“Pinkerton,” said I, suddenly, “have you that Occidental in your pocket?”
“Never left me,” said Pinkerton, producing the paper.
I turned to the account of the wreck.
“Here,” said I; “here's the name. 'Elias Goddedaal, mate.' Why do we never come across Elias Goddedaal?”
“That's so,” said Jim. “Was he with the rest in that saloon when you saw them?”
