w who he is or where he is. But I can
see him in an old faded blue uniform. I kind of like him. Look in the
fire, everyone of you, and keep your eyes fixed on the blaze. See him? I
do. I can see him just as plain--poor old codger. Funny thing, a campfire,
isn't it? I can see him better now than I could before. He's got white
hair and he's writing a letter to that kid of his in France and telling
him to be careful of that money. He's having a hard time trying to make
two ends meet. Poor old fellow, he's warning that son of his about places
in France where soldiers get robbed. I've seen some of those places,
sailors' hang-outs, in Brest, and I can back him up there.

I have a kind of hunch that the old fellow-put some more wood on, Roy-I
have a kind of a hunch that he sent the kid a ring, a cameo ring,
with the head of President Lincoln on it. I can see old honest Abe
now--right there where the new sticks are blazing up. Huh? Maybe it's only
a crazy notion; what do you say? But I've doped out a kind of a notion
that that old fellow got the ring when he started off to war; that somebody
or other presented one to each fellow; that left the village. I'd give a
doughnut to know where that village is.

Anyway, the old man wore it on the second finger of his left hand and I
kind of think he wanted that kid of his to do the same--over there in the
trenches.

Maybe I'm just a sort of a day dreamer, but that's the picture I've had in
my mind ever since I was fishing with Jake Holden. And it seems to all fit
together now when I look right there in that blaze. Pretty good camp-fire
yarn, hey? Not so worse? Just look into the fire yourselves and think
about that letter. Nothing but a kind of fancy, hey? Faces in the blaze
and all that sort of stuff. Never saw me get sentimental before, did
you--Skeezeks?

The funny part of the whole thing is that the man we saw in the boat
_didn't have any second finger on his left hand._ It couldn't have been
his finger the writer of the letter meant.

CHAPTER XVI

THE MYSTERY

Gee whiz, I didn't even know that he had stopped talking. I was just
looking into the blaze and I could see the whole thing right there. Maybe
it wasn't true at all, but anyway, I could see it. Especially I could see
the old man. That's just the way it is with camp-fires.

Then, all of a sudden Harry Donnelle poked up the fire and began to laugh.
"Funny, hey?" he said.

I said, "Do you think the dead man in the