Mr. Fitts, who was not a satellite but a very irritating Christian gentleman, cleared his throat and said:

"I didn't speak, Mr. Landover. I always make a noise like that when I yawn. It's an awfully middle-cla.s.s habit I've gotten into. Still, don't you think one obtains a little more--shall we say enjoyment?--a little more enjoyment out of a yawn if he lets go and puts his whole soul into it? Of course, it isn't really necessary to utter the 'hi-ho-hum!' quite so vociferously as I do,--in fact, it might even be better to omit it altogether,--if possible,--when some one else is speaking. There are, I grant you, other ways of expressing one's complete mastery of the art of yawning, such as a prolonged but audible sigh, or a sort of m.u.f.fled howl, or even a series of blissful little shrieks peculiar to the feminine of the species,--any one of these, I admit, is a trifle more elegant and up-to-date, but they all lack the splendid resonance,--you might even say grandiloquence,--of the old-fashioned 'hi-ho-hum!' to which I am addicted. Now, if you will consider--"

"My G.o.d!" exclaimed the banker, with a positively venomous emphasis on the name of the Deity. "Who wants to know anything about yawns?"

Mr. Fitts looked hurt. "I am sorry. My mistake. I thought you were trying to change the subject when you interrupted my yawn."

"That fellow's a d.a.m.n' fool," said the banker, as Fitts strolled off to join another group.

"Try one of these cigars, Mr. Landover," said Mr. Nicklestick persuasively. "Of course, they're nothing like the kind you smoke, but--"

"Is mine out? So it is. No, thank you. I'll take a match, however, if you have one about you."

Four boxes were hastily thrust upon the great financier.

"Haf you noticed how poor the matches are lately, Mr. Landover?"

complained Mr. Block.

"As for this vagabond being superintendent of a mining concession up in Bolivia," continued Landover, absentmindedly sticking Mr. Nicklestick's precious, box of matches into his own pocket, "that's all poppyc.o.c.k.

He's an out-and-out adventurer. You can't fool me. I've handled too many men in my time. I sized him up right from the start. But the devil of it is, he's got all the officers on this boat hypnotized. And most of the women too. I made it a point to speak to Mrs. Spofford and her niece about him this morning,--and the poor girl has been making quite a fool of herself over him, you may have observed. Mrs. Spofford owns quite a block of stock in our inst.i.tution, so I considered it my duty to put a flea in her ear, if you see what I mean."

"Certainly, certainly," said Mr. Nicklestick.

"She should have been very grateful," said Mr. Block.

Mr. Landover frowned. "I'm going to speak to her again as soon as she has regained her strength and composure. Nerves all shot to pieces, you understand. Everything distorted,--er--shot to pieces, as I say. I dare say I should have had more sense than to--er--ahem!--two or three days'

rest, that's what she needs, poor thing."

"Absolutely," said Mr. Nicklestick.

"You can't tell a woman anything when she's upset," said Mr. Block, feelingly.

"Miss Clinton is a very charming young lady," said Mr. Nicklestick, giving his moustache a slight twist. "I should hate to see her lose her head over a fellow like him."

"She is a splendid girl," said Landover warmly. "One of the oldest families in New York. She deserves nothing but the best."

"That's right, that's right," a.s.sented Mr. Nicklestick. "I don't know when I've met a more charming young lady, Mr. Landover."

"I didn't know you had met her," observed the banker coldly.

"Oh, yes," replied Mr. Nicklestick. "We were in the same lifeboat, Mr.

Landover, you know,--all night, you know, Mr. Landover."

CHAPTER IX.

Early the next morning, Percival turned out long before there were any sounds from the galley or dining-room. The sun had not yet cleared the tree-tops to the east; the decks of the Doraine were still wet with dew.

A few sailors were abroad; a dull-eyed junior officer moodily picked his way through the debris on the forward deck. Birds were singing and chattering in the trees that lined the sh.o.r.e; down at the water's edge, like sentinels on duty, with an eye always upon the strange, gigantic intruder, strutted a number of stately, bright-plumaged birds of the flamingo variety--(doubtless they were flamingoes); the blue surface of the basin was sprinkled with the myriad white, gleaming backs of winged fishermen, diving, flapping, swirling; on high, far above the hills, soared two or three huge birds with wings outspread and rigid, monarchs of all that they surveyed. The stowaway leaned on the port rail and fixed his gaze upon the crest of the severed hill, apparently the tallest of the half dozen or so that were visible from his position.

With powerful gla.s.ses he studied the wooded slope. This hill was probably twelve or fourteen hundred feet high. He thought of it as a hill, for he had lived long in the heart of the towering Andes. Behind him lay the belt of woodland that separated the basin from the open sea, a scant league away. The cleft through the hill lay almost directly ahead. It's walls apparently were perpendicular; a hundred feet or less from the pinnacle, the opening spread out considerably, indicating landslides at some remote period, the natural sloughing off of earth and stone in the formation of this narrow, unnatural pa.s.sage through the very centre of the little mountain. For at least a thousand feet, however, the sides of the pa.s.sage rose as straight as a wall. That the mountain was of solid rock could not be doubted after a single glance at those st.u.r.dy, unflinching walls, black and sheer.

"Well, what do you make of it?" inquired a voice at his elbow. He turned to find Mr. Mott standing beside him.

"Earthquake," he replied. "Thousands of years ago, of course. Split the island completely in two."

"Sounds plausible," mused the First Officer. "But if that is the case, how do you account for the shallowness of the water in the pa.s.sage and out here in the basin? An earthquake violent enough to split that hill would make a crack in the earth a thousand fathoms deep."

"I have an idea that if we took soundings in this basin we'd find a section twenty or thirty feet wide in the centre of it where we couldn't touch bottom. The same would be true of the pa.s.sage if we plumbed the middle. When we came through it the ship sc.r.a.ped bottom time and again.

As a matter of fact,--the way I figure it out,--she was simply b.u.mping against the upper edges of a crevice that reaches down G.o.d knows how far. We took no soundings, you will remember, until we swung out into this pool. I'll bet my head that that cut through the hill yonder is a mile deep. Earthquake fissures seldom go deeper than that, I've heard.

Generally they are mere surface cracks, a hundred feet deep at the outside. But this one,--My G.o.d, it gives me the creeps, that crack in the earth does."

"Umph!" said Mr. Mott, his elbows on the rail beside the young man, his chin in his hands. He was looking down at the water. "Captain Trigger is planning to send a couple of boats outside to survey the coast. I dare say he'll be asking you to go out in one of them. You're a civil engineer and so he feels--"

"Excuse me, Mr. Mott, but what's the sense of sending boats out to explore the coast before we find out how big the island is?"

"What's the sense? Why, how are we to find out how big the island is unless we make the circuit of it? And how in thunder are we to find out that there isn't a village or some sort of trading port on it--What are you pointing up there for?"

Percival's finger was levelled at the top of the higher half of the bisected mountain.

"See that hill, Mr. Mott? Well, unless we're on a darned sight bigger island than I think we are, we can see from one end of it to the other from the top of that hill. It isn't much of a climb. A few huskies with axes to cut a path through the underbrush, and we might get up there in a few hours. I've been figuring it out. That's why I got up so early.

Had it on my mind all night. The sensible thing to do is to send a gang of us up there to have a look around. Strange Captain Trigger never thought of it. I suppose it's because he's an old sea-dog and not a landlubber."

Mr. Mott coughed. "I fancy he would have thought of it in good time."

"Well, in case he doesn't think of it in time, you might suggest it to him, Mr. Mott."

The result of this conversation was the formation of a party of explorers to ascend the mountain. They were sent ash.o.r.e soon after breakfast, well-armed, equipped with axes and other implements, boat-hooks, surveying instruments, and the most powerful gla.s.ses on board. Percival was in command. The party was made up of a dozen men, half of them from the gun crew, with an additional complement of laborers from the steerage.

Ruth Clinton, as soon as she learned of the proposed expedition, sought out Percival and insisted upon re-bandaging his hands.

"You must not go into all that tangle of brushwood with your hands unprotected," she declared, obstinately shaking her head in response to his objections. "Don't be foolish, Mr. Percival. It won't take me five minutes to wrap them up. Sit down,--I insist. You are still one of my patients. Hold out your hand!"

"They are ever so much better," he protested, but he obeyed her.

"Of course they are," she agreed, in a matter-of-fact tone. "You did not give me a chance last night to tell you how splendid you were in tackling that crazy mob. I witnessed it all, you know. Madame Obosky and I."

"Then, you didn't beat it when I told you to, eh?"

"Certainly not. What are you going to do about it?"

"What can I do? I can only say this: I'm glad Captain Trigger's opinion of me is based on my ability to reason with an ignorant mob and not on my power to intimidate a couple of very intelligent young women."

"I wouldn't have missed it for worlds," she said coolly. She looked up into his eyes, a slight frown puckering her brow. "Do you know, Madame Obosky had the impertinence to say that you would have turned tail and fled if those people had shown fight."