The meeting of Phil Ryder and Serge Belcofsky, who had parted months before in far-away New London, and who now so unexpectedly ran across each other in the busiest street of the westernmost city of the continent, was one of the happiest that ever took place in Victoria. Phil was so overcome by it that for a moment his voice failed him, and he could only hold his friend’s hand in both of his, and gaze at him as though fearful that he might vanish as suddenly as he had appeared.

“Serge, old man,” he said at length, “you have come to me like an angel from heaven, for never in my life have I needed a friend as at this very minute. I never half appreciated you before, but you may be certain that I do now. Oh, my dear fellow! if you could only know one part of how glad I am to see you!”

“Why, what is the matter?” inquired Serge, anxiously. “Are you in trouble? Is there anything I can do to help you? How do you happen to be here of all places? The Seamew got in two days ago; but I didn’t find a single letter from New London, and I haven’t heard a word of news from there since we started for the coast.”

“Am I in trouble!” exclaimed Phil. “Well, I should say I am. I am in one of the very worst scrapes that ever a fellow got into. Can you help me? I rather think you can. I hope so, at any rate. You have helped me already more than I can tell. The mere sight of your face, the sound of your voice, and the clasp of your hand have banished half my troubles, and given me new courage to face the rest. Why, old man, a friend was what I needed more than anything in the world, and now that I have found one, everything seems possible.”

“You in trouble!” cried Serge, in amazement. It was hard to realize that this young hero of his admiration, the one who above all others had seemed so strong and self-reliant and free from care of any kind, could be in a position in which his humble aid could be of value.

“Indeed I am,” replied Phil; “and to begin with I haven’t a cent in the world, nor have I eaten a mouthful of food to-day. So if you have any money in your pockets, you will at once invite me to breakfast. After that I will tell you the whole story.”

“You poor old chap!” exclaimed Serge, to whom hunger was of all things the most unpleasant. “Of course I’ve got money”—he had just one dollar, which represented his entire stock of wealth—“and the ‘Poodle Dog’ is just around the corner.”

In another minute the lads were seated at a table in the best restaurant of Victoria, and Phil was giving the waiter a breakfast order that confirmed that individual in his previously formed opinion that Americans were not only the wealthiest people in the world, but were possessed of the most extraordinary appetites.

Although Serge, whose own breakfast had been eaten hours before, would willingly have shared another with his friend, a prudent regard for his finances compelled him to resist the temptation, and declare that he was not the least bit hungry. So he merely sat and watched with real pleasure Phil’s demolition of the very heartiest and most thoroughly enjoyable meal of his life. As he ate, his courage and natural buoyancy of spirits returned to him so fully, that when at length he pushed away his plate, declaring himself unable to eat another mouthful, he was again the self-reliant, independent, happy-go-lucky Phil Ryder whom Serge had known and admired in New London.

The bill for that breakfast amounted to exactly one dollar, and as Serge paid it, Phil wondered why he did not also tip the waiter, who had been unusually attentive. He was too polite to mention the matter, and concluded that his friend’s oversight must be the result of his early training.

Serge knew well enough what was expected of him, however, and felt uncomfortable until the restaurant was left behind and he was beyond reach of the waiter’s reproachful glance. “Now,” said he, as they gained the street, “let’s have your story. You haven’t told me one word of yourself and your troubles yet.”

“Troubles?” repeated Phil, inquiringly, as though such things and he were but the most distant of acquaintances. “Yes, of course, I have had some troubles; but they don’t bother me now half so much as they did. I’ll tell you all about them, though; but this is a poor place for talking. If you don’t mind we’ll go up to my room. It is close at hand, and we can be there in a minute. Then we can relate our several adventures, and discuss plans without fear of interruption.”

Why Phil had not returned to his hotel for breakfast the very first thing after being set at liberty he could not have explained; but hungry, friendless, and penniless as he was that morning, he could no more have entered the Driard dining-room than he could have begged for a meal at a private house. Now, however, the situation seemed to him so entirely different that he walked into the hotel office as coolly as a young millionaire, and with quite the air of one demanded the key of his room, ordered his bag sent up to it, and led the way to the elevator.

The clerk on duty, who happened to be the same who had witnessed his unpleasant encounter with an officer the evening before, regarded the young fellow with a mild surprise, but made no comment. He concluded that there must have been some mistake after all, but was too well trained in the hotel business to ask unpleasant questions of a guest. He did eye Serge a little curiously, for though the lad had on his best suit it was unmistakably the garb of a sailor.

As for the young Russo-American, he followed his friend into this swell hotel, listened to the orders that he issued, and which were so promptly obeyed, and finally accompanied him to his room with so comical an expression of bewilderment on his face that Phil noticed, and laughed at it.

“You are evidently thinking that my plea of poverty and these surroundings do not exactly match each other,” he said.

“Well, yes, I must confess—”

“That I appear very much like an impostor. But really I am not one, old man. I was in such a desperate fix when you turned up, like a blessed angel to help me out of it, that in an hour more, if left to my own devices, I believe I should have jumped overboard.”

“You would have done nothing of the kind,” cried Serge, indignantly. “You are no such coward as that, and I know it.”

“Well, perhaps not,” replied Phil. “But it seems to me that hunger with no prospect of its relief can make cowards of the bravest fellows. And I was hungry, awfully hungry.”

“I can well believe that,” laughed Serge, “after seeing you eat. But tell me, why do you stay in this hotel?”

“Because I have no other place to go to, and have no money with which to settle my bill in case I wish to leave.”

“But isn’t it awfully expensive?”

“Oh, I don’t know. I suppose they charge three or four dollars a day; but if it were only fifty cents a day I couldn’t pay it, and so would have to stay on all the same. I think it’s very lucky that I am stranded in so comfortable a place. But let me tell you the whole story from the beginning, and then you will see just what sort of a position I am in.”

So Phil related his recent experiences, and when he had finished Serge only asked,

“What has become of the fur-seal’s tooth I gave you, and which you used to wear on your watch-chain?”

“Lost it.”

“Then that accounts for everything.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that, according to what the old chief who gave that tooth to my father told him, it is a most powerful charm for good or evil. He said that whoever gave it away gave good-luck with it. Whoever received it as a gift received good-luck. Whoever lost it lost his luck, and whoever stole it stole bad-luck that would follow him so long as he retained it in his possession. According to this you who have lost it are suffering the consequences.”

“Nonsense!” cried Phil. “I hope you don’t believe in any such foolish superstition, or that a bit of carved ivory can possess the powers you claim for the fur-seal’s tooth?”

“I don’t claim it,” protested Serge. “I only repeat what the Indian said. At the same time, almost every one in Alaska, or, at any rate, every one whom I know, believes in such things, and can tell you lots of stories about them.”

“Yes. I’ve no doubt they can tell lots of stories, but the thing is to prove them. Now, I don’t believe in superstitions of any kind, and am very sorry for those who do. As for my present bad-luck, it is entirely owing to my own carelessness and hot-headedness, but for which I should be comfortably on my way to Sitka at this very minute. As it is, here I am up such a very tall stump that, as far as I can see, there isn’t the slightest chance of getting down from it inside of several weeks. My chance of visiting Alaska is knocked higher than a kite, too, for the money that would have taken me there will now have to be devoted to paying my hotel bill here.”