“It doesn’t seem exactly the thing to frighten a fellow half to death just when he is making friendly advances to you,” reflected Phil, as he watched the flying figure of Mr. Goldollar, “but what else could I do? I had to try and keep my promise. Besides, how dared he to insult me with such a proposal? The idea of suggesting that I should turn smuggler!” At this thought the lad’s blood boiled with such indignation that he felt inclined to follow Mr. Goldollar, and still further impress upon him the lesson he had just received. Before he could carry out this intention, however, the train started, and he was obliged to let well enough alone, at least for the present.

As for Mr. Simon Goldollar, his feelings had received a much greater hurt than that with which his body had been threatened, and as he slipped into a seat in the smoking-car, as far as possible from the one occupied by Phil, his dark features were distorted with rage.

“I’ll pay you for this outrage, very suddenly and with compound interest, you canting young hypocrite you!” he muttered, at the same time shaking his fist vaguely in the direction of the sturdy lad, against whom in a fair fight he would have stood no better chance than an infant. He did not re-enter the sleeper until after the train reached Vancouver, so that Phil did not see him again, and wondered without much caring whether he had not been left behind.

During the last few miles of that eventful overland journey Phil was so busy gathering up his belongings, repacking his bag, and bidding farewell to those of his fellow-passengers who were to stop in Vancouver, that he forgot all about the scenery. Consequently when the train stopped for the last time, and the porter called out: “Vancouver! Change here for Victoria, Japan, and China!” it seemed incredible that the sparkling waters visible through the car window could be those of the Pacific Ocean.

They were, though, or rather they were the waters of Burrard Inlet, an arm of Puget Sound, on which the new but rapidly growing city of Vancouver is located. Just across the wharf, at one side of which the train had stopped, lay a great white clipper-bowed steamship, bearing the name in letters of gold Empress of India. She was one of the fleet of superb ocean flyers that form the Canadian Pacific’s connecting link between America and Asia. The mere sight of this beautiful ship, and of the Japanese stewards and cabin-boys clustered on her snowy decks, made Phil feel as though he had indeed joined the great army of “globe-trotters.”

There was but scant time, though, for romantic reveries concerning the Orient, for near the Empress lay the Premier, another though much smaller white steamer, waiting to convey to Victoria such passengers and mail as the train had brought.

This boat had hardly left the wharf, with Phil comfortably seated on deck, his bag and gun beside him, and his overcoat lying across his knees, before the excitable lad sprang to his feet and ran to the opposite side. He had caught a glimpse as the steamer swung of what he believed to be a canoe. Yes! it was—a genuine Haida dugout with projecting beaklike prow, and an Indian crew who were wielding queer-looking sharp-pointed paddles. It was precisely like the pictures in books of British Columbian travel, and Phil recalled at once that it was fashioned out of one of the huge straight-grained logs of yellow cedar that are only found on that coast. He remembered, too, that after it had been laboriously hollowed out, and shaped with fire, adze, and hatchet, it was steamed by means of hot stones and boiling water, until its sides could be flared out so as to give it beam and stability. They are held in this position by means of crossbars; but the process renders the wood so liable to split if exposed for any length of time to a hot sun, that when hauled up on a beach the canoe must be entirely covered with mats or blankets, and while in use water must every now and then be dashed over its sides to keep them damp.

While Phil was watching this canoe, and wishing he were in it instead of on board a prosaic every-day steamer, a gentleman approached him holding something in his hand, and saying, “I believe this is yours?”

It was a pocket-book.

“I don’t think it can be mine, sir,” began Phil, politely, at the same time clapping a hand to the side where he was accustomed to feel every now and then for his precious money. An expression of comical dismay overspread his face. “Good gracious! yes it is, too!” he cried, extending his hand for his property.

“I thought it must be,” replied the gentleman, with a smile, “for I saw it drop from your overcoat as you left your seat to come to this side of the boat. It seems to me, though, that an overcoat is hardly the proper place for carrying a pocket-book. One is so apt to leave it lying round.”

“That is just what I think, sir,” answered Phil, with a laughably rueful expression of countenance. “I didn’t mean to leave it there, I can assure you, and didn’t know that I had. The sleeping-car porter picked it up from the floor while I was doing up my things, and as I had my overcoat on I just stuck it into one of the pockets for a second, meaning to place it where it belonged directly afterwards. Then we got in, and with the confusion I forgot all about it. But I will put it away safe enough now, and I am awfully obliged to you, sir, for I couldn’t well afford to lose what it contains.”

Thus saying, Phil restored the wallet that his carelessness had so nearly lost to his inner vest pocket, and after a prolonged struggle succeeded in securing it there with his aunt Ruth’s trusty safety-pins.

The gentleman watched this proceeding with an amused smile, but with words of commendation for the safety-pin plan. “I am glad to see,” he said, “that you are, after all, an unusually prudent and careful lad, for I feared you might be one of the heedless tribe, and might thereby get into trouble. May I inquire if you are going to stop in Victoria?”

“Only until the Alaska steamer comes along,” answered Phil. “I am on my way to Sitka, where I am to join my father.”

“Indeed!” exclaimed the stranger. “Then we shall see a great deal of each other, for I, too, am on my way to Sitka. In fact, that is my home. If you will allow me, I will hand you my card.”

On the card which Phil thus received and then thrust into a pocket of his own card-case was engraved simply “Mr. Arthur Ames,” and of course the lad had no means of knowing that his new acquaintance was one of the most eminent and best-known men in the whole Northwest. As he handed out his own card in return, Mr. Ames said: “I wondered if I should not know your father, and now I see that I do. That is, if he is Mr. John Ryder, the mining expert.”

“Yes, sir, that is his name,” replied Phil, delighted at this recognition.

“Then I am doubly glad to make your acquaintance, Mr. Ryder, and am obliged to the fortunate incident of the pocket-book that led to it.”

Phil was greatly pleased with this new friend, who was able to point out everything of interest, and was possessed of such stores of information concerning Alaska, that the lad looked forward with pleasing anticipations to travelling in his company.

It was long after dark before the electric lights of Victoria were sighted, and Phil expressed disappointment that he could see nothing of the city.

“You will have plenty of time to-morrow,” suggested Mr. Ames, “for our steamer is not due to arrive here from Port Townsend until about this time to-morrow evening, and she will remain here an hour or so after getting in. So you will have an opportunity to visit Beacon Hill Park, Dunsmuir Castle, the museum, and go out to ’Squimault as well. I wish I might act as your guide to the city, but I cannot, and shall not even see you at your hotel, as I must stay at the house of a friend, with whom I have an amount of important business to transact that will occupy every moment until the steamer leaves. After that we shall see a great deal of each other, I trust.”

“Indeed I hope we shall, sir,” replied Phil, heartily, as he mentally contrasted this new travelling acquaintance with the one made in Montreal.

“By-the-way,” continued Mr. Ames, “if you have a trunk, and care to intrust your check to me, I will have it put aboard the Alaska steamer with mine, and will guarantee its safe delivery in Sitka. By that means you will be saved a tedious trip down to the outer wharf to-morrow, and will gain at least two hours of extra time for sight-seeing.”

The stranger had already inspired our hero with such perfect confidence that he handed him his trunk check without the slightest hesitation, at the same time expressing his gratitude for the kindness thus shown him.

A few minutes later the Premier was made fast to her wharf at the inner end of a tiny but perfectly protected harbor, at the head of which stands the capital of British Columbia. Here the newly made acquaintances parted, with promises of again meeting on the following evening. Mr. Ames was driven away to the house of his friend, while Phil took a carriage for the Driard, the hotel at which his father had instructed him to stop so long as he remained in Victoria. Here he found a letter from Sitka, that had been brought down by the last steamer. It was such a loving epistle, and was so filled with the joyful anticipations of a speedy meeting, that Phil was moved to sit down and answer it at once, regardless of the fact that his reply could only reach its destination by the same steamer on which he expected to travel.

Having thus got himself into the mood for writing, Phil also indited a long letter, descriptive of his journey thus far, to his aunt Ruth. In this he made the triumphant assertion that his pocket-book was still securely fastened in its proper place by the safety-pins to whose sturdy clasp she had intrusted it, and that up to date he had not lost a single thing. In making this assertion the boastful lad entirely forgot the fur-seal’s tooth, though he was soon to have ample cause to remember it.

Both these letters being mailed in the hotel box before he went to bed, Phil slept the sleep of him who has a clear conscience, and awoke the next morning as light-hearted and happy a lad as could be found in all British Columbia. After breakfast he took a stroll down Government Street and into the Chinese quarter, with the queer sights of which he was intensely amused and interested.

On his way back he stopped for a few minutes in a rifle gallery that presented an open front to the street. Here he was tempted by the bad marksmanship displayed by a group of sailors to show them a bit of Yankee shooting, and was lucky enough to make five bull’s-eyes in succession out of six shots. This performance was greeted by a round of hearty cheers from the sailors, and these were repeated when Phil distributed among them the prize of cigars by which his skill was rewarded.

In the afternoon he rode by electric car out to Esquimault, or ’Squimault, as the splendidly fortified harbor and British naval station of the Pacific coast is called. Here he went on board the Royal Arthur, one of the finest cruisers in her Majesty’s navy, and was shown all over the ship by a marine especially detailed for that purpose. Then he made the acquaintance of a middy, who invited him to dine with the steerage mess, and he had altogether such a fine time that the sun set long before he thought it ought to, and it was dark before he finally returned to his hotel.

Learning, by inquiry, that the Alaskan steamer was in, and that he had barely time to catch her, he ordered a cab to be in readiness, rushed up-stairs for his things, and then back again to the office, where it only remained for him to pay his bill and be off.