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āđāļāļĄ āļŠāļĨāđāļāļ āļāļīāļāļāļē "What is your name, my man?" asked Christy, as he looked over the stalwart form of the skipper of the Magnolia. The appearance of Walsh, fully dressed in the garb of a seaman, was so great a surprise to Christy Passford, that he hardly noticed any other person on the deck of the Vernon. He had given no particular attention to the man when he saw him at his father's house, though he regarded him as a very good-looking and intelligent person for one in the situation in which he found him. The absconding man-servant had certainly made good use of his time since he left Bonnydale, for he appeared to have become a full-fledged sailor in the space of ten hours. "Four bells, Mr. Flint!" added the commander when the Bronx was fairly under way. "The Floridian was coming out this morning in the fog, if Captain Flanger made the signal for her to do so. Then the captain was to go on board of her, and I was to sail the rest of the party to Appalachicola," replied Mike, still chuckling with delight at his ability to give the commander such important information. "Very likely you did, if your hearing is good," replied Christy with a smile, for the large revolver, discharged in the small cabin, made a tremendous noise. "The gentleman behind the table, who is holding on to his nose, requires some of your professional skill. He was proceeding to capture the Bronx, and had gone to the point where you find him." "I beg your pardon, Captain Passford; I used the title of 'mister' from habit, and not as meaning anything," replied the surgeon. "I was forced by the evidence, and quite as much by the lack of evidence, to concur with Captain Battleton in his decision."