West Indies Islands--his strength began to
return.

The "Ol' Doc," as he was universally known in the neighborhood, was an
eccentric scientist who had spent his life in studying the plants of the
West Indies. He had lived in the Antilles for over forty years and knew
as much about the people as he did about the plant life.

Kindly-natured, the old botanist became greatly interested in his young
patient, and, that he should not weary in enforced idleness, sent to
Bridgetown for Stuart's trunk and his portable typewriter. Day by day
the boy practised, and then turned his hand to writing a story of his
experiences with the "debbil-trees" which story, by the way, he had to
rewrite three times before his host would let him send it.

"Writing," he would say, "is like everything else in the world. You can
do it quickly and well, after years of experience, but, at the
beginning, you must never let a sentence pass until you are sure that
you cannot phrase it better."

Moreover, as it turned out, the Ol' Doc was to be Stuart's guide in more
senses than one, for when the boy casually mentioned Guy Cecil's name,
the botanist twisted his head sidewise sharply.

"Eh, what? Who's that?" he asked. "What does he look like?"

Stuart gave a description, as exact as he could.

"Do you suppose he knows anything about flowers?"

"He seemed to know a lot about Jamaica orchids," the boy replied.

The botanist tapped the arm of his chair with definite, meditative taps.

"That man," he said, "has always been a mystery to me. How old would you
take him to be?"

"Oh, forty or so," the boy answered.

"He has looked that age for twenty years, to my knowledge. If I didn't
know better, I should believe him to have found the Fountain of
Perpetual Youth which Ponce de Leon and so many other of the early
Spanish adventurers sailed to the Spanish Main to find."

"But what is he?" asked Stuart, sitting forward and eager in attention.

"Who knows? He is the friend, the personal friend, of nearly every
important man in the Caribbean, whether that official be British, French
or Dutch; he is also regarded as a witch-master by half the black
population. I have met him in the jungles, botanizing--and he is a good
botanist--I have seen him suddenly appear as the owner of a sugar
plantation, as a seeker for mining concessions, as a merchant, and as a
hotel proprietor. I have seen him the owner of a luxurious yacht; I have
met him, half-ragged, loo