e
first chapter of this story. The steward did not believe the passenger's
name was Wallbridge, as written on the Waldo's papers. He did not see
what he had changed his name for, and hoped he hadn't done anything
wrong.

"'He gave his name as J. Wallbridge,' Leopold read from the diary; 'but
that was not the name I found on the paper in his state-room, when I
made up his bed on the day we sailed from Havana, though the initials
were the same. Then he lent me his Bible to read one day, and this other
name was written on it in forty places, wherever there was any blank
paper. I wanted to borrow the Bible again, but he would not lend it to
me; and I thought he remembered about his name being written in it so
many times. I saw the same name stamped on a white shirt of his, which
he hung up to air on deck to-day. The name was not J. Wallbridge either;
it was Joel Wormbury.'"

"My father!" shouted Stumpy, springing to his feet.

CHAPTER XVI.

GOLD AND BILLS.

Stumpy was an excited young man. He had come into the parlor on the
invitation of Leopold, and had very modestly coiled himself away in the
most obscure corner of the room. He was very much interested in the
reading of Harvey Barth's diary, and especially in regard to the
mysterious passenger. When Leopold read the name of "Joel Wormbury," he
could no longer contain himself. He leaped from his corner, and shouted
as though he had been hailing the Rosabel half a mile off.

"My father!" repeated he; and all eyes were fixed upon him.

Stumpy was excited, not so much, we must do him the justice to say,
because there was money involved in the fact, as because the name and
memory of his father were dear to him.

"That man was Stumpy's father as true as the world!" said Mr.
Bennington.

"It is a very remarkable affair," added Mr. Hamilton. "Such things don't
often happen."

"But I haven't the slightest doubt that this Wallbridge was Joel
Wormbury," replied the landlord.

"I'm sure of it," exclaimed Stumpy. "I know all about that Bible; I've
seen it twenty times; and mother always used to put it into father's
chest when he was going away fishing."

"I don't know about that, Stumpy," interposed Mr. Bennington, with a
smile of incredulity; "I'm afraid it won't hold water."

"What's the reason it won't?" demanded Stumpy, who was entirely
satisfied in regard to the identity of the sacred volume. "I used to
carry it to Sunday school sometimes; and I've seen