there, I should say it wasn't," responded Butts. "But it's on the level, all right." He turned to the foreigner. "Here, Flying Dutch, you tell him where you got the news."
Spanish Dick thrust his face into the group in childlike bewilderment at it all, but he comprehended enough of Butts' admonition to answer:
"Si, Señor capitan, I found it in a bottle. From the sea it came—I swear it by all the saints—by Santa Maria de Colon—by"
"Shush," interposed Butts, "haven't you got any tact? You'll offend 'His Nibs,'" shrugging his shoulder at the minister, "you're in a Puritan hangout now."
Then he went on to the captain, "He's told you the truth. He picked it up down in Jersey, on Barnabee Beach—and it cost my last cent to tote it here."
"It won't be your last, son, if it's genuine," the captain assured him, then grasping Sally's arm with an unconscious roughness in his excitement, exclaimed,—
"And, by Godfrey, it does seem genuine!"
But seeing the frightened look in her eyes, he addressed her tenderly,—
"Sally, look here, can't you stand some news—if it's good news? Well, it's a miracle, almost too good to be true, but"
He saw that she didn't comprehend what he was saying at all, but stood there, still in that daze, and her answering query was almost petulant.
"What is it? Oh, what is it?"
"He's alive and well—here, read it yourself."
