Occasionally the bulldog would
enter and after sniffing suspiciously at the prostrate figure of the
rescued man would emit a low growl of disapproval and retreat. He was
not disposed to be friendly.
On one of his trips to the forward cabin Harry noticed the clothes
belonging to the newcomer lying on the floor where they had been dropped
when he had been put into the berth. Thinking to care for them by
straightening and drying them, the boy picked up the first garment in
the pile. It was a vest and as he raised it a collection of small
articles fell from the pocket to the floor.
Among the contents was a metal match box which fell and slid across the
floor, striking, on the locker as it dropped.
"Well, that's too bad. The gentleman will have wet matches, I guess,"
thought the boy. "I'd better empty those wet ones out and give him some
dry ones against his waking and needing some."
What was his amazement, however, upon opening the box to find instead of
matches, a clipping from a newspaper. Harry was about to thrust it back
into the box again when a printed word caught his attention and held him
for a moment motionless. The word was the name of their vessel, the
"Fortuna."
Hastily glancing through the headlines, Harry uttered a quick cry and
dashed forward to the pilot house.
"Boys! Jack, Tom, Arnold," he cried excitedly. "What do you think of
this? Here's some more of this mystery for us."
"What do you mean, mystery?" queried Tom, scoffingly.
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