"Come aboard, gentlemen, and let me see my mail." A whaleboat accordingly ranged alongside, and three men boarded us: my old San Francisco friend, the stock-gambler Speedy, a little wizened person of the name of Sharpe, and a big, flourishing, dissipated-looking man called Fowler.

The two last (I learned afterward) were frequent partners; Sharpe supplied the capital, and Fowler, who was quite a character in the islands and occupied a considerable station, brought activity, daring, and a private influence, highly necessary in the case.
Both seemed to approach the business with a keen sense of romance; and I believe this was the chief attraction, at least with Fowler--for whom I early conceived a sentiment of liking.

But in that first moment I had something else to think of than to judge my new acquaintances; and before Speedy had fished out the letters, the full extent of our misfortune was revealed.
"We've rather bad news for you, Mr.Dodd," said Fowler.

"Your firm's gone up." "Already!" I exclaimed.
"Well, it was thought rather a wonder Pinkerton held on as long as he did," was the reply.

"The wreck deal was too big for your credit; you were doing a big business, no doubt, but you were doing it on precious little capital; and when the strain came, you were bound to go.
Pinkerton's through all right: seven cents dividend; some remarks made, but nothing to hurt; the press let you down easy--I guess Jim had relations there.