Dodger now comprehended his present situation fully. He was a
passenger on the ship _Columbia_, and there was no chance of leaving
it. He had ascertainel on inquiry that the vessel would not put in
anywhere, but would make the long voyage direct. It would be over four
months, at any rate, before he could communicate with Florence, and in
the meantime, she and Mrs. O'Keefe, whom he recognized as a good
friend, would conclude that he was dead.

It was very provoking to think that he could not even telegraph, as
that would relieve all anxiety, and he felt sure that Florence was
enough his friend to feel anxious about him.

He had just closed up his valise, when a young man of dark complexion
and of an attractive, intellectual expression, entered the cabin.

He nodded pleasantly to Dodger, and said:

"I suppose this is Arthur Grant?"

"Yes, sir," answered Dodger, for he had decided to adopt the name.

"We ought to become close friends, for we are, I believe, the only
passengers."

"Then you are a passenger, too?" said Dodger, deciding, after a brief
scrutiny, that he should like his new acquaintance.

"Yes. My name is Randolph Leslie. I have been, for the last five
years, a reporter on leading New York daily papers, and worked so
closely that my health has become somewhat affected. My doctor