is eight o'clock in the morning, or four in the
afternoon or eight at night, according to the time of day. Then there's
one bell for every half hour, so four bells this morning would be ten
o'clock in this watch, I suppose."

"Oh, that's the way it goes, eh?" asked the clerk. "I never could get
it through my head. What is twelve o'clock noon?"

"That's eight bells, too; so is twelve o'clock midnight. Eight bells
is as high as they go on a ship. But I guess I'll go down and see if I
can meet the captain. It will soon be ten o'clock, or four bells, and
he must be hungry for breakfast. By the way, is that Mr. Berg still
here?"

"No; he went away early this morning. He and Captain Weston seemed to
strike up quite an acquaintance, the night clerk told me. They sat and
smoked together until long after midnight, or eight bells," and the
clerk smiled as he glanced down at the big diamond ring on his little
finger.

"They did?" fairly exploded Tom, for he had visions of what the wily
Mr. Berg might worm out of the simple captain.

"Yes. Why, isn't the captain a proper man to make friends with?" and
the clerk looked at Tom curiously.

"Oh, yes, of course," was the hasty answer. "I guess I'll go and see if
I can find him--the captain, I mean."

Tom hardly knew what to think. He wished his father, or Mr. Sharp, had
thought to warn Captain Weston against talking of the wreck. It might
be too late now.

The young inventor hurried to the beach, which was not far from the
hotel. He saw a solitary figure pacing up and down, and from the fact
that the man stopped, every now and then, and gazed seaward through a
large telescope, the lad concluded it was the captain for whom he was
in search. He approached, his footsteps making no sound on the sand.
The man was still gazing through the glass.

"Captain Weston?" spoke Tom.

Without a show of haste, though the voice must have startled him, the
captain turned. Slowly he lowered the telescope, and then he replied
softly:

"That's my name. Who are you, if I may ask?"

Tom was struck, more than by anything else, by the gentle voice of the
seaman. He had prepared himself, from the description of Mr. Sharp, to
meet a gruff, bewhiskered individual, with a voice like a crosscut saw,
and a rolling gait. Instead he saw a man of medium size, with a smooth
face, merry blue eyes, and the softest voice and gentlest manner
imaginable. Tom was very much disappointed. He had looked for a re