“No, don’t open it at present.  You will find out what it contains when you are in Spain.  Within it is enclosed the future of your own folks.”

Toni looked with astonished eyes at the light scrap of paper which he held between his fingers.

“I know you,” continued Ferragut.  “You are going to protest at the quantity.  What to me is insignificant, to you will appear excessive....  Do not open the envelope until you are in our country.  In it you will find the name of the bank to which you must go.  I wish you to be the richest man in your village that your sons may remember Captain Ferragut when he is dead.”

The mate made a gesture of protest before this possible death, and at the same time rubbed his eyes as though he felt in them an intolerable itching.

Ulysses continued his instructions.  He had rashly sold the home of his ancestors there in the Marina, the vineyards,—­all his legacy from the Triton, when he had acquired the Mare Nostrum.  It was his wish that Toni should redeem the property, installing himself in the ancient domicile of the Ferraguts.

He had money to spare for that and much more.

“I have no children and I like to feel that yours are occupying the house that was mine....  Perhaps when I get to be an old man—­if they do not kill me, I will come to spend the summers with you.  Courage now, Toni!...  We shall yet go fishing together, as I used to go fishing with my uncle, the doctor.”

But the mate did not regain his spirits on hearing these optimistic affirmations.  His eyes were swollen with tears that sparkled in the corners of his eyes.  He was swearing between his teeth, protesting against the coming separation....  Never to see him again, after so many years of brotherly companionship!... Cristo!...

The captain was afraid that he, too, might burst into tears and again ordered his mate to present the accounts of the crew.

An hour later Toni reentered the saloon, carrying in his hand the opened letter.  He had not been able to resist the temptation of forcing the secret, fearing that Ferragut’s generosity might prove excessive, and impossible to consider.  He protested, handing to Ulysses the check taken from the envelope.

“I could not accept it!...  It’s a crazy idea!...”

He had read with terror the amount made out to him in the letter of credit, first in figures then in long hand.  Two hundred and fifty thousand pesetas!... fifty thousand dollars!

“That is not for me,” he said again.  “I do not deserve it....  What could I ever do with so much money?”

The captain pretended to be irritated by his disobedience.

“You take that paper, you brute!...  I was just afraid that you were going to protest....  It’s for your children, and so that you can take a rest.  Now we won’t talk any more about it or I shall get angry.”

Then, in order to conquer Toni’s scruples, he abandoned his violent tone, and said sadly: