“You are to understand that we have,” corrected Mr. Howland.

“Mr. Howland, gentlemen,” said Dan, “I—­I can’t say anything except—­thank you—­I—­” He hesitated, confusedly.

“There’s nothing for you to say,” interpolated the president, “except that you’ll go down to the ship, which is loading at Pier 36, East River, and assume command.  Captain Harrison will remain aboard for two or three trips to break you in to the trade.”  There was that in his voice which intimated the end of the interview, and Dan with a bow was turning to leave, when Mr. Howland uttered an exclamation.

“Oh, by the way,” he said, “here is a note my daughter asked me to give you.  It will explain itself, I think; and since you are now serving under the house flag of this company, I can say only that obedience to orders contained therein is imperative.  We all obey orders from that source,” and with a chuckle Mr. Rowland turned to his confreres and was speedily immersed in other important affairs of the company.

Dan did not open the envelope in the office.  First of all he wanted fresh air.  The quick, calm, business-like manner in which his promotion had taken place; the noiseless, well-ordered, automatic opening of another door leading to the future of his ambitions, so utterly at variance with preconceived ideas in this regard, had all but unnerved him.  He had always held it as assured that some day he should walk his own bridge.  But until a half-hour ago, this day seemed still to lie far ahead, a day to be attained, well, he could not say exactly how—­but at least with a sort of metaphorical roaring of guns and waving of flags, and great spiritual exaltation.

But now—­a few short sentences, a handshake, and presto!  Captain Merrithew, of the Coastwise line steamship Tampico, by your leave.  The wonder of it all dazed him; yet withal he knew he had never before been so stirred to the very depths of his being.  He was not yet in a position to estimate his good fortune in comprehensive terms.  As a matter of fact, he did not try.  One thought alone kept flaming through his brain—­his age.  Twenty-six, twenty-six; the numerals flew through his mind as though the years of his life were the most important elements in the situation.

By the time he reached the Battery sea-wall, he had somewhat adjusted his mental attitude, and, gazing with a degree of calmness over the waters of the bay toward the hills of Staten Island, he recalled the note from Miss Howland.

All along it had lain a pleasant substratum in his mind, and now as he tore open the envelope and read the contents, a peculiar, grim smile lighted his eyes for a second.

“DEAR CAPTAIN MERRITHEW:—­Next Thursday we are going to have a reunion of the castaways at our house.  It will be for dinner, and we have all agreed it will not be complete without the man who made this gathering possible.

“I am not going to let you make any excuse, for my dinner-party will have an empty space without you.  It will be very informal.  Father for several years has refused to wear evening dress at dinner, so none of the other men will.  Now remember, I shall expect you on Thursday evening, at seven; you need not bother sending an acceptance.