Aunt Jane's Nieces Out West
"
"My father," Jones returned, "loved quiet and seclusion. He was willing
to develop the pearl fisheries, but objected to the flock of adventurers
sure to descend upon his island if its wealth of pearls became generally
known. His colony he selected with great care and with few exceptions
they are a sturdy, wholesome lot, enjoying the peaceful life of Sangoa
and thoroughly satisfied with their condition there. It is only within
the last two years that our American agents knew where our pearls came
from, yet they could not locate the island if they tried. I do not feel
the same desire my father did to keep the secret, although I would
dislike to see Sangoa overrun with tourists or traders."
He spoke so quietly and at the same time so convincingly that both
Arthur and Uncle John accepted his explanation unquestioningly.
Nevertheless, in the embarrassing dilemma in which Jones would presently
be involved, the story would be sure to bear the stamp of unreality to
any uninterested hearer.
The girls had now begun to chatter over the theatre plans, and their
"financial backer"--as Patsy Doyle called him--joined them with eager
interest. Arthur sat at a near-by desk writing a letter; Uncle John
glanced over the morning paper; Inez, the Mexican nurse, brought baby to
Louise for a kiss before it went for a ride in its perambulator.
An hour had passed when Le Drieux entered the lobby in company with a
thin-faced, sharp-eyed man in plain clothes. They walked directly toward
the group that was seated by the open alcove window, and Arthur Weldon,
observing them and knowing what was about to happen, rose from the
writing-desk and drew himself tensely together as he followed them. Uncle
John lowered his paper, frowned at Le Drieux and then turned his eyes
upon the face of young Jones.
It was the thin-featured man who advanced and lightly touched the
boy's arm.
"Beg pardon, sir," said he, in even, unemotional tones. "You are Mr.
Andrews, I believe--Mr. Jack Andrews?"
The youth turned his head to look at his questioner.
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There was once an honest journeyman tailor, by name Labakan, who learned his trade with an excellent master in Alexandria. It could not be said that Labakan was unhandy with the needle; on the contrary, he could make excellent work: moreover, one would have done him injustice to have called him lazy. Nevertheless, his companions knew not what to make of him, for he would often sew for hours together so rapidly that the needle would glow in his hand, and the thread smoke, and that none could equal him.
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