“The idea,” interrupted Markham, encouraged by Brimmer’s beginning, “of his knocking around the Gulf of California, and getting up an expedition to go inland, just because a mail-steamer saw a barque like the Excelsior off Mazatlan last August.  As if the Excelsior wouldn’t have gone into Mazatlan if it had been her!  I tell you what it is, Brimmer:  it’s mighty rough on you and me, and it ain’t the square thing at all—­after all we’ve done, and the money we’ve spent, and the nights we’ve sat up over the Excelsior—­to have this young fellow Keene always putting up the bluff of his lost sister on us!  His lost sister, indeed! as if we hadn’t any feelings.”

The two men looked at each other, and each felt it incumbent to look down and sigh deeply—­not hypocritically, but perfunctorily, as over a past grief, although anger had been the dominant expression of the speaker.

“I was about to remark,” said Brimmer practically, “that the insurance on the Excelsior having been paid, her loss is a matter of commercial record; and that, in a business point of view, this plan of Keene’s ain’t worth looking at.  As a private matter of our own feelings—­purely domestic—­there’s no question but that we must sympathize with him, although he refuses to let us join in the expenses.”

“Oh, as to that,” said Markham hurriedly, “I told him to draw on me for a thousand dollars last time I saw him.  No, sir; it ain’t that.  What gets me is this darned nagging and simpering around, and opening old sores, and putting on sentimental style, and doing the bereaved business generally.  I reckon he’d be even horrified to see you and me here—­though it was just a chance with both of us.”

“I think not,” said Brimmer dryly.  “He knows Miss Montgomery already.  They’re going by the same steamer.”

Markham looked up quickly.

“Impossible!  She’s going by the other line to Panama; that is”—­he hesitated—­“I heard it from the agent.”

“She’s changed her mind, so Keene says,” returned Brimmer.  “She’s going by way of Nicaragua.  He stops at San Juan to reconnoitre the coast up to Mazatlan.  Good-night.  It’s no use waiting here for a cab any longer, I’m off.”

“Hold on!” said Markham, struggling out of a sudden uneasy reflection.  “I say, Brimmer,” he resumed, with an enforced smile, which he tried to make playful, “your engagement with Keene won’t keep you long.  What do you say to having a little supper with Miss Montgomery, eh?—­perfectly proper, you know—­at our hotel?  Just a few friends, eh?”

Brimmer’s eyes and lips slightly contracted.

“I believe I am already invited,” he said quietly.  “Keene asked me.  In fact, that’s the appointment.  Strange he didn’t speak of you,” he added dryly.

“I suppose it’s some later arrangement,” Markham replied, with feigned carelessness.  “Do you know her?”

“Slightly.”

“You didn’t say so!”