.

"Then he is a physician?" I asked suddenly.

"I reckon he's most anything that a man kin l'arn out o' books,"
declared Captain Tugg. "He sent by me to Buenos Ayres here, first trip I
made after we'd gone partners in the animal biz, for the greatest old
outfit of drugs and the like you ever see. The natives come flockin' to
him for miles an' miles. He's one big medicine man, all right, all
right!"

"And I look like him?" I queried.

"By the e-tar-nal snakes! you sartainly favor him, son," declared the
captain, enthusiastically. "Why! ye might be his son. Got the same
features. The Professor keeps clean shaven. Hair like him, too, now I
looks at ye. And your voice--Well! it does beat all how near like him
you be. Sure you ain't got no relative named Vose?"

"How do you know his name is Vose?" I asked, my voice trembling a
little, for the old mystery of my father's disappearance had swept in
upon my soul again and I was shaken to the depths.

"Wal! I swear now! I never thought of that. I s'pose he might never
have told me his real name," said Tugg.

The whole story took hold of me as it had when Tom Anderly told me of
the man that had been picked up by the coaster, Sally Smith, off
Bolderhead Neck some fourteen or fifteen years before. Tom had said
nothing about the man looking like me; but of course, Tom didn't know
the man long--only until the coaster reached New York City. And his name
had been Carver--or so the Unknown had said. This Captain Tugg had been
partners with the man he called the Professor for twelve years. Long
enough to know his peculiarities and to recognize in my build, and in
the tones of my voice, things that reminded him strongly of his partner.

And I had been told, often enough, that I had my father's stature and
his very tone of voice and manner of speaking!

But hold on! there was another way to make connection between the flying
strands of this seemingly absurd story. I turned to Captain Tugg calmly.

"By the way, sir," I said, "do you ever run around to Santiago?"

"Valparaiso, you mean, son?" he returned. "That's the seaport."

"I mean Santiago, Chili."

"Why, pshaw! I _have_ been to the capital once--three or four years
ago."

"What for, sir--if I'm not too curious? You see, I've a reason for
asking," I said.

"I reckon so," he returned, eyeing me grimly. "And I've a reason for
not telling you. Private business."

"I don't mean to be too 'nosey,'" I returned. "But I'll a