"I didn't put it on your head."
"Do you see the initials, R. D. M?" And catching up the handkerchief once more, Joseph Farvel pointed them out.
"What of that? They are not my initials," said Dick.
"Nor mine."
"Dem must be old Rusher's initials," put in Danny, quickly. Dat's his name, Rusher Daniel March."
"Who is Rusher?" and Farvel's face took on a different look.
"You'll have to ask de captain, Mr. What'syour-name."
"My name is Joseph Farvel."
"Well, wot yer making all dis fuss about dat hankerchief for?"
"I know a man who has those initials—Robert Dascott Menden, of London."
"I suppose dare's lot uf fellers has dem same letters, an' why not? I'll turn dat handkerchief over to de rest of de crowd, if yer say so. I see yer got yer head plastered up now."
"What are you going to do with those ropes?" asked Dick, determined to follow up the advantage Danny's ready wit had brought them.
"That is my business."
"Oh, all right. Sorry I spoke."
"I want to know if you met this Robert Menden?"
