"There's something else," he said, running, a pine-sliver through his
pipe-stem--"something that interests us all here more than auks, big
or little. I suppose I might as well speak of it, as you are bound to
hear about it sooner or later."

He hesitated, and I could see that he was embarrassed, searching for
the exact words to convey his meaning.

"If," said I, "you have anything in this region more important to
science than the great auk, I should be very glad to know about it."

Perhaps there was the faintest tinge of sarcasm in my voice, for he
shot a sharp glance at me and then turned slightly. After a moment,
however, he put his pipe into his pocket, laid hold of the brake with
both hands, vaulted to his perch aloft, and glanced down at me.

"Did you ever hear of the harbor-master?" he asked, maliciously.

"Which harbor-master?" I inquired.

"You'll know before long," he observed, with a satisfied glance into
perspective.

This rather extraordinary observation puzzled me. I waited for him to
resume, and, as he did not, I asked him what he meant.

"If I knew," he said, "I'd tell you. But, come to think of it, I'd be
a fool to go into details with a scientific man. You'll hear about the
harbor-master--perhaps you will see the harbor-master. In that event I
should be glad to converse with you on the subject."