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His family were devout Roman Catholics of Scotch or Irish origin. The police seemed to have thought Scotch. He had three or four brothers, all of whom were reputable citizens. But this one boy, Harry, while he had been a perfectly good boy, bright enough, and went to school locally at the public schools, had always been a restless fellow, was crazy about boats and ships. As a little boy he had gone down and set on the piers and watched the ships come and go. From his house he could see what went on in the bay.

He had no record whatever that was unfavorable in Australia, except that he was restless. It's true that his upbringing didn't jibe with his cap-twisting diffidences but he may just have been the old duck of the family. Nobody knows about that.

At age sixteen or seventeen he had run away. He had shipped off on some ship that had come into port, had gone away and had never been back since. His family had heard from him occasionally. His family know he was in America. His family know he was in San Francisco. They had not been in touch with him, but he had not concealed his address from them particularly. Although he had wandered around the world a good deal, he had never