"
But at sunset Channing called to him and addressed him sanely. He
held in his hand a mass of papers carefully numbered and arranged,
and he gave them up to the captain as though it hurt him to part with
them.
"There's the story," he said. "You've got to do the rest. I can't--I-
-I'm going to be very ill." He was swaying as he spoke. His eyes
burned with the fever, and his eyelids closed of themselves. He
looked as though he had been heavily drugged.
"You put that on the wire at Port Antonio," he commanded, faintly;
"pay the tolls to Kingston. From there they are to send it by way of
Panama, you understand, by the Panama wire."
"Panama!" gasped the captain. "Good Lord, that's two dollars a word."
He shook out the pages in his hand until he found the last one. "And
there's sixty-eight pages here," he expostulated. "Why the tolls will
be five thousand dollars!" Channing dropped feebly to the bench of
the chart-room and fell in a heap, shivering and trembling.
"I guess it's worth it," he murmured, drowsily.
The captain was still staring at the last page.
"But--but, look here," he cried, "you've--you've signed Mr. Keating's
name to it! 'James R.
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