"I'll subscribe fifty," cried Hamlet.

"I'll consult my secretary," said Solomon, "and find out how many of my
wives have been abducted, and I'll pay ten dollars apiece for their
recovery."

"That's liberal," said Hawkshaw. "There are sixty-three of 'em on board,
together with eighty of his fiancées. What's the quotation on fiancées,
King Solomon?"

"Nothing," said Solomon. "They're not mine yet, and it's their fathers'
business to get 'em back. Not mine."

Other subscriptions came pouring in, and it was not long before everybody
save Shylock had put his name down for something. This some one of the
more quick-witted of the spirits soon observed, and, with reckless
disregard of the feelings of the Merchant of Venice, began to call:
"Shylock! Shylock! How much?"

The Merchant tried to leave the pier, but his path was blocked.

"Subscribe, subscribe!" was the cry. "How much?"

"Order, gentlemen, order!" said Sir Walter, rising and holding a bottle
aloft. "A black person by the name of Friday, a valet of our friend Mr.
Crusoe, has just handed me this bottle, which he picked up ten minutes ago
on the bank of the river a few miles distant. It contains a bit of paper,
and may perhaps give us a clew based upon something more substantial than
even the wonderful theories of our new brother Holmes."