The Galleon's Gold; or, Frank Reade, Jr.'s Deep Sea Search.

The clipper ship Aurelian, one of the few survivors of the old West India trade, had sighted Sandy Hook, and was making New York harbor after a remarkable voyage from Belize.

Captain Hartley, her master, was eagerly watching the approaches to the harbor with his deck glass.

By his side stood a man of distinguished appearance.

He was tall, sinewy, and would have been considered handsome were it not for the yellow hue of skin which all travelers in tropical climes are bound to acquire.

Cecil Clifford had traveled the world over. His hobby was archæology, and as he was a man of large means and a member of many historical and scientific societies, he was able to pursue his researches to any extent.

He was the only passenger aboard the Aurelian, and was returning to New York from Honduras with a thrilling purpose in view.

What this purpose was only he and Captain Hartley knew.

“I only hope that Mr. Parker received our cable from Havana, and will be at the wharf to meet us,” remarked Captain Hartley.

“So do I,” agreed Clifford. “Is it not possible that he will come down to meet us in a tug?”

The captain shook his head with a wry face.

“Humph!” he said; “you do not know Gilbert Parker. He is the most penurious man in America. Do you think he would put out the money to employ a tug? Depend upon it—never!”

“Yet our cablegram may excite his cupidity. Did you not specify that it was a matter of moment, involving perhaps millions?”

“I did, but I do not fancy he would heed that. He is a very close, snug man of business, this Gilbert Parker. The Aurelian is all the property he owns in the world and every cent of profit she turns him in from her voyages he with miserly proclivity stores away.”

Cecil Clifford’s face wore a determined expression.

“Very well,” he said, resolutely. “If Mr. Parker does not see fit to lend the Aurelian for my purpose, I will buy, charter or build a vessel of my own!”

Captain Hartley turned eagerly about.

“If you do that,” he said with some excitement, “why may I not enter your service?”

“And leave Parker?”

The captain snapped his fingers.

“The old skinflint has no love for me and vice versa,” he said. “I have sailed the Aurelian for him eight years and made a mint of money for him. Yet he would not yield me a bit of sympathy or help were I in trouble or distress. You cannot blame me!”

“Under such circumstances, no,” replied Clifford. “And Hartley, it shall be so. You stand by me and I will by you.”

“It is agreed.”

They gripped hands.

“You have faith in our enterprise?”

“I have.”

At this moment the first mate called down from the ship’s bridge:

“There is a small tug over yonder making signals to us, skipper!”

Hartley started forward.

“A tug!” he cried. “Answer them at once! Can it be possible that it is Parker coming to meet us?”

“By Jove, I hope that is true!” cried Clifford heartily.

“If so,” said the captain, “he has very radically departed from all previous custom.”

The tug which had signaled the Aurelian now drew momentarily nearer.

Soon she was within hailing distance, and among her company the angular form of the owner of the Aurelian was seen.

The ship lay to and the tug ran alongside. The owner came up the gangway somewhat hastily.

“Ah, Hartley!” he said, in a brusque sort of way, “you have brought my ship home safely once more!”

“I think I may claim that, Mr. Parker,” replied the captain.

“Has the voyage been successful?”

“The best yet made!”

“Ah! that is good,” declared Parker, rubbing his dry little hands while his eyes glittered like beads. “You are very shrewd, Hartley, and I will admit, faithful. I have gone to some expense to come out here and meet you. That I will charge to the deficit account. I am anxious to know the meaning of your cablegram!”

“You shall know it at once!” replied the captain. “Come into the cabin. But first, allow me, Mr. Parker, my friend, Cecil Clifford.”