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Updated: May 20, 2025
Then the keeper came back with the woman, who appeared to be a scared Indian and screeched some. He said her name was Titiaca, and she would look after us, but otherwise had no culture. Craney woke up and took a look at things. "I have already," the keeper says very solemn, "the advantage of your honourable names. My own is Gaspero Raphael de Avila y Mituas."
"Here's my programme. You go up to 22 Market Street, and ask the agent. Then he'll say he don't know. Then you'll tell him he's a three-cornered idiot, because you'll admire the truth, and come back and we'll have a drink." "All right," he says, absent-minded and calm, and went off up Market Street. By-and-by the agent came down with Craney floating behind. "This is Mr.
Craney here distributed cigars, lit a fat one himself, pushed back from the table, crossed his legs, stuck a thumb in the arm-hole of his plush vest, and went on unfolding his mind. "It ain't the king's pleasure to leave this island, nor it ain't the ways of monarchs, as I take it, to apologise.
And then, coming through the forecastle, some one spoke to me from a bunk and he says: "When'd you drop in, Tommy?" and I stopped, and stared, and pretty soon I made him out. It was Julius R. Craney. He certainly was sick. He said he had shipped with Rickhart from New York, to go to California and make his fortune, but thought now he wouldn't live so far.
Now, there were thieves enough in Colon, and Craney never owned to it, but I'll say he showed a weakness afterward for putting cash into my pocket, that I shouldn't have said was natural to him without further reasons. But supposing he'd been there before, he surely put more back in the end than he ever took out.
Now, we're offering, as a business proposition, to collect on the same antique terms, only we give you an itemized account this time. What do you say?" "Senor Craney," said the keeper slowly, "are you asking me if I accept the acknowledgment of my rights? I do not understand a business proposition.
But Craney was more than curious as to Case's guest, the ghost, and by Friday Case was sober and solemn and sick enough to be cross-questioned without show of resentment. Craney went so far as to ask Case wouldn't he like a little whiskey to steady his nerves a cocktail to aid his appetite and stir his stomach? "Like it," said Case, "you bet I would which is why I won't take it.
It was later by three hundred years lacking one when our houseboat came along to gather up that story. But to our regret it was not springtime. The dogwood blossoms had come and gone when Gadabout lay behind Craney Island; and she would start upon her cruise up the James in the heart of the summertime.
He'd buried two men already down the coast, and the thing must have got on his nerves, for he anchored overnight, and sent Craney and me to the lighthouse in a boat. "You forfeit your passage money," he says, and told the mate to buy what truck he could, and tell the Dago in the lighthouse he could keep our remains. Rickhart was a rough man, and his ship was a rotten ship.
Only every day there would be a native come down and dance around in the shallow to attract attention, or maybe swim out to the ship with a bit of paper in his mouth. And the paper would read: "O. K. Business progressing. Yours, J. R." or; "I'm permeating. Yours, Julius R." So I judged it was a peaceful island, and likely Craney had found something worth trading for.
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