hue of the sky. His head was quite bald at the top; his face wrinkled;
he had a bushy mustache and a half-grown beard. His clothing was soiled,
torn and neglected; but perhaps his accident accounted for much of its
condition. His age might be anywhere from thirty to forty years. He
looked alert and shrewd.

"You are Belgian?" said Uncle John.

He leaned against the rail, shaking off the doctor's support, as he
replied:

"Yes, monsieur. Belgian born and American trained." There was a touch of
pride in his voice. "It was in America that I made my fortune."

"Indeed."

"It is true. I was waiter in a New York restaurant for five years. Then
I retired. I came back to Belgium. I married my wife. I bought land. It
is near Ghent. I am, as you have guessed, a person of great importance."

"Ah; an officer, perhaps. Civil, or military?" inquired Ajo with mock
deference.

"Of better rank than either. I am a citizen."

"Now, I like that spirit," said Uncle John approvingly. "What is your
name, my good man?"

"Maurie, monsieur; Jakob Maurie. Perhaps you have met me--in New York."