that chap with our wits, not with guns, though they’ll be useful maybe for bluff. Did y’ ever see strategy and tactics combined in the concrete?” “No,” said George. “Then you’ve never seen my rat trap,” said Hank. An hour later George returned from his visit58 to the club with two letters for Hank. One was the expected letter from New York; the other, which bore only the San Francisco post-mark, was addressed to R. T. Fisher, and ran: 58 11 West Lincoln Street, San Francisco. Sir, As a lover of the sea and all that therein is, I take this opportunity to beg leave to apply for a post in your expidition, can turn my hand to anything that isn’t crooked. Was gold-mining at Klondike two years but give it up owing to a frost bight but am used to dealing with rough characters. Seeing the piece about you in the evening paper to-night I make haist to apply and you will find me equal prompt in my dealings I have to do with you, and satisfactory. A line to above will oblige. Yours, truly, J. B. Yonkers. P. S. Terms can be arranged. “That’s the bill-mackerel,” said Hank. “Did you ever see a mackerel? Well, it’s always headed by a couple or so of freak mackerel. Chaps with bills like ducks. This is the first of the shoal of chaps that’ll be wanting to come along, with us—you’ll see.” 59 59 CHAPTER IX CANDON CANDON GEORGE did. An abject and crawling apology from the Piker, published and paid for in next morning’s papers, restarted the publicity campaign, and, though the press never recovered its first careless rapture, the thing had made good and was established in the mind of the public. The letters came in day by day, some addressed to the club, some care of Joe Barrett, all of the same tenor. The expedition that had aroused mild merriment in the upper circles of San Francisco was received in dead seriousness by the middle and lower circles—even with enthusiasm. The thing had vast appeal to the
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