bound for
Coronado. They all left the car during the brief voyage and watched
the porpoises sporting in the clear water of the bay and gazed
abstractedly at the waving palms on the opposite shore, where lies
nestled "the Crown of the Pacific"--Coronado.

CHAPTER XVIII

THE SILENT MAN

Even the Major smiled benignantly when he reached his appointed room
in the magnificent Hotel del Coronado, which is famed throughout the
world.

"This," said he, "reminds me of New York; and it's the first thing
that has, since I left home."

"Why, Daddy, it isn't like New York at all," protested Patsy, standing
beside him at the broad window overlooking the ocean. "Did you ever
see a palm tree waving in New York; or daisy bushes as tall as a man;
or such masses of roses and flowering vines? And then just notice the
mountains over there--they're in Mexico, I'm told--and this great
headland in the other direction; it's called Point Loma. Oh, I never
imagined any place could be so beautiful!"

The others were equally excited, and Uncle John said, smiling broadly:

"Well, we're here at last, my dears, and I'm sure we are already well
paid for our trip across the continent. What pleasant rooms these are.
If the hotel table is at all to be compared with the house itself we
shall have a happy time here, which means we will stay as long as
possible."

But the table was another surprise, for the meals were equal to any
served in the great Eastern metropolis. Uncle John complimented the
landlord, a cheery faced, fat little man who had at one time managed
a famous New York hotel and had brought his talents and experience to
far California.

"I'm sorry," said this gentle boniface, "that I could not reserve
better rooms for you--for there are some choice views from some
locations. I had a corner suite saved for your party, a suite I
consider the most desirable in the hotel; but an eccentric individual
arrived yesterday who demanded the entire suite, and I had to let him
have it. He will not stay long, and as soon as he goes you shall have
the rooms."

"Who is he?" asked Uncle John.

"A rich miner; a most melancholy and peculiar person, by the way,"
replied landlord Ross. "I believe his name is Jones."

Mr. Merrick started.

"Jones, and a miner?" he said. "What's his other name--Anson?"

"We'll look and see," replied Mr. Ross, turning to the hotel register.
"No; not Anson. He is registered as C.B. Jones, of Boston."

"Oh