de haste to
hunt for a small steamer or launch to complete the trip.

Though none of the four saw him, the old man was at the hotel. He lost
no time in assuming another and very different disguise, observing to
himself that the most valuable part of his college education might
prove to be the secrets of "make up" he had learned in his college
dramatic club.

Owen, with his usual forethought, had arranged in advance to be put in
touch at once with all available boats. As a result a gasoline launch,
with a cabin and stateroom, about 100 feet long, which had once been a
yacht, was chartered. The "pirate's" stipulation that no stranger
should see his island made it necessary for Pauline to deposit a check
for $2,500 for its safe return.

The next morning provisions were brought aboard, the "pirate" declaring
that he could run the engine, and all was ready when a difficulty
arose. Who was to cook? Pauline volunteered, but Owen objected, and
finally the "pirate's" objections to a stranger were overcome.

A dark-skinned half-breed, with long, black hair, who had earned half a
dollar by helping carry things on board, volunteered in a gruff voice.

"I'se fine cook. Best cook on the island. I cook very cheap."

Time was too valuable to investigate the man's ability, so he was
hired. Off went the white launch. Owen steering under instructions
from the "pirate," who soon proved he knew gasoline engines. Out of
the harbor they went, and then coasted along the beautiful shores of
the island. The sea was calm and the cruise uneventful for some time,
when the "pirate" called every one's attention to the fact that it was
a long time since breakfast. He went below and addressed the cook, who
had shut himself up in his tiny galley, as sailors call a boat's
kitchen.

"What's your name?" demanded Boyd.

"Filipo."

"Are you a nigger?"

"I guess so; I dunno."

"Well, what were your father and mother?"

"I dunno."

"That's funny; but what I want to know is how soon grub will be ready?"

"Right away, senor."

"All right, Filipo; see that there is plenty of it."

"Dod foul my hawser, if this ain't what yer might call pleasant,"
declared the "pirate," showing his few teeth in a smile that reminded
Pauline of the spiles of an abandoned pier.

Pauline was pacing the deck apart from the others, in a pleasant
dreaminess scanning the endless azure of the hashed waters. Her
thoughts roamed forward and backward--forwa