something
wrong somewhere, but I can't get a clear passage to what it is. The
signals don't seem to be right, and we're navigating around in a fog.
Maybe you can put us on the right course, and we'll get into some sort
of a harbor."

"I'll do my best, though I don't know much about his affairs," said
the stout sailor. "But come on in. I'd like to talk to you."

Nat felt a little strange at meeting one who had known his father so
intimately.

But George Clayton was not one to let one feel sad for very long. When
they were in his room at the hotel, drinking lemonade, for the day was
hot, he told Nat all he knew about his father's last voyage.

"And so you're learning to be a pilot," he said to Nat at the close.
"I thought your father was going to set you up in some business. He
was afraid you would meet with some accident if you followed the same
calling he did."

"Set him up in business? What do you mean?" asked Mr. Weatherby.

"Well, I don't know exactly what business, but I know Jim--I always
called your father Jim," he explained to Nat--"I know Jim was talking
what he was going to do with the profits of the load of lumber--I mean
his share."

"Did Mr. Morton have a share in the load of lumber on the barge from
which he was drowned?" asked the pilot.

"Of course. Didn't you know that? Didn't you get his share when he
died?" he asked of the boy.

"I got nothing. Father left nothing, as far as I know."

"Why, he certainly left something," insisted Mr. Clayton. "We all got
our share out of it, and I always supposed his went to his heirs.
You're the only one, I understand."

"This is getting to be quite a puzzle," declared Mr. Weatherby.
"Suppose you explain."

"Well, you certainly surprise me," went on Mr. Clayton. "And Nat
didn't get anything after his father died?"

"Not a cent. How could he? Mr. Morton left no papers of any kind."

"Well, he certainly did, for I saw 'em. There was a whole walletful,
and among them was a certificate of his share in the lumber deal."

"What lumber deal? What wallet?" asked Nat excitedly.

"I'd better begin at the beginning," said Mr. Clayton, "and tell it
all regularly--that is, as much as I know. But first I must have some
more lemonade."

He filled his glass from the pitcher, drank a goodly draught of the
beverage, and began:

"Jim and I and several others formed a syndicate on that lumber. That
is, we all put our money together and purchased the load. It was g