MR. DRIVER.
THE stranger's smile robbed his words of their hardness.
"Strangers, yes," Charley replied, "Fools, no."
"No offense intended," said the man, quickly. "Strangers will sometimes
take advice but fools will not. My advice to you strangers is to keep
out of places like this and not to make friends with other strangers. I
don't suppose you know who that man is who just left you."
"He's a retired sea captain," said Captain Westfield. "He was giving us
some pointers about the sponge business. Mighty pleasant an' obligin'
fellow. Mighty fair-spoken."
"Bless your simple little souls," exclaimed the stranger. "He's no
captain, active or retired. He's the runner for this place. Lucky you
haven't any of you drank your coffee yet. You'd be waking up in some
alley bye-and-bye with your heads aching from knock-out drops and your
pockets turned inside out. My, but you were easy."
"I don't reckon any one would dare do such a thing in broad daylight,"
Captain Westfield declared.
"It's been done in this place a dozen times. And the victim's kicks
never did any good after it happened, for there was always a dozen
Greeks ready to go on the stand and swear that it was only a case of
drunkenness on the victim's part. Better get out of here."
The humbled little party arose and followed their conductor out to the
sidewalk. As they passed through the crowd they could not help but
notice the wrathful glances the sitters bestowed upon the one who had
cheated them of their victims.
"I guess we have acted pretty green," Charley admitted, as they passed
outside, "but we were so eager to learn about the sponge business that
we forgot caution. Besides, one does not look for such tricks in a
little town like this. It's not like a big city where one has to be
always on his guard against strangers."
The stranger favored the members of the little party with a closer
scrutiny than he had yet bestowed upon them.
"So you are figuring on going into the sponge business, eh?" he asked.
"We may try it a bit if we find out that it pays as well as we have
heard tell of," answered Captain Westfield, cautiously, "but it's
mighty hard to find out anything definite about it from these Greeks."
"Oh, there's big money in it all right," said their new friend. "You
might make a go of it. You are a pretty husky, determined-looking lot
and would soon get on to the Greekish tricks. It's a risky business,
though. I don't advise anyone to take it up."
"We've encountered a few risks in other lines," said Charlie, modestly.
"We are willing to take a few chances if there's money enough in it to
tempt us."
The stranger pulled out his watch and looked at the time. "My name is
Driver," he remarked. "I own a store over on the next street in the
American section. Business is slack at this time of day and I will show
you around a bit, if you wish. My clerks can look out for the trade for
an hour or two."
"No need of thanks," he said as the Captain accepted his offer
gratefully. "If you decide to go into the sponge business, you will
need lots of provisions and I hope to sell them to you. We Americans
do not get any of the Greek trade and we are always glad to secure a
new customer. Now I suppose you want to know about the profit side of
the business first. Well, I can not give you exact figures but I know
that all engaged in the business are making big money. All these big
buildings you see have been built out of sponging, and they do not
represent a hundredth part of the money made out of the business.
There is an enormous amount sent back to Greece every month through the
post-office and bank here. I know Greeks who landed here only a few
years ago with nothing but the clothes on their backs--and those were
mighty poor--that are wealthy men now and they made their fortunes out
of sponges. Oh, there's big money in it all right. But you can look
into that part of the business closer later on. Now, I want to show
you something of the sponges themselves. We will go down to the harbor
first."
The interested little party followed him as he led the way along a soft
sand road flanked by scrub palmettos.
Their guide paused beside one of the several large buildings standing
close to the road. "This is a clipping shed," he said.
The building was open on one side and was filled with a crowd of old
men, women and young boys, all Greeks. Before each was a pile of rough
sponges from which they were clipping the spoilt parts with great
shearing shears. In one corner, a man worked over a big screw-press,
pressing the severed fragments of sponges into huge compact bales.
"That part isn't important enough to waste much time looking at," Mr.
Driver said, as he turned away. "Come on and I'll show you something
worth seeing."
As they followed along behind their guide, the boys became sensible
of a strong, pleasant, appetizing odor in the air, an odor which grew
stronger as they advanced. A turn in the road brought them suddenly
upon the source of the odor. On the shore of a quiet little land-locked
harbor, blazed dozens of small camp-fires over which sat great iron
kettles. On pieces of canvas laid upon the ground were piles of fresh
beef and mutton. Over each pile worked several Greeks cutting the meat
with the sheaf knives into tiny squares about an inch in size. Other
Greeks were dumping the little square pieces into the kettles, while
still others kept the contents stirred and the fires under the kettles
burning briskly.
"They are putting down the meat for their next voyage," explained Mr.
Driver. "They roast it in its own fat, put it into stone jars, and pour
the fat over it. As soon as the fat cools and congeals it forms an
air-tight covering which keeps the meat from spoiling."
"If it tastes half as good as it smells, it must be delicious," Charley
remarked.
Chris viewed the cooking operation with professional jealousy. "Golly,
I bet dey can't cook like dis nigger," he declared, "I spect dem
kettles ain't none too clean noway."
Captain Westfield gave but scant attention to the trying-out process.
His interest was centered on the big fleet of schooners anchored near
shore. They were over a hundred in number and were of all sizes and
designs. They made a pretty sight lying gracefully close together in
the little harbor. But the old sailor soon strolled on to where groups
of Greeks were building and repairing boats on the shore. He inspected
their work with a critical eye, but he was soon lost in admiration.
"Lads," he exclaimed, "I never saw such workmen before. They are
turnin' out tight, neat seaworthy little crafts with no tools but a saw
and a hatchet. Ain't those queer lookin' crafts though."
The boats were about thirty feet in length, sharp at both bow and
stern, and of enormous depth for their size. True to their love for
bright colors the Greeks had painted each plank a different hue and the
little vessels looked like floating rainbows.
The captain viewed their single masts, which inclined aft at an angle
of forty-five degrees, with deep-sea scorn.
"It's clean against Nature for a mast to be set that way," he declared.
"It ain't regular or ship-shape."
"Those small crafts are used as diving boats," Mr. Driver explained.
"They carry a big square sail, but most of them are equipped with
engines also. They are great sea boats and will ride out a gale almost
as well as the schooners."
His explanations were interrupted by loud talking close at hand and
the little party, full of curiosity, hastened to the spot from which
the uproar came.
In the center of a circle of curious onlookers, a large man wearing a
marshal's badge was slipping a pair of handcuffs on the wrists of a
slender boyish-looking young fellow.
"No need to put those things on me, Mr. Officer," the lad was
protesting, passionately. "I'll go along with you without any trouble.
I've only acted within my rights and all I want is a fair trial."
"Anything you say can be used against you at your trial," cautioned the
marshal.
"I don't care, I admit I shot two of those treacherous Greeks. It was
the only thing to do. When it came on to blow a gale, they refused to
cut the cable, and work the schooner. It was a case of making them obey
orders and get her off before the seas or lose my ship. I only wish I
had shot more of them. They have been laying for me ever since to slip
a knife into me and chuck me overboard. I haven't dared take a wink of
sleep for three days and two nights."
"Poor fellow," said Mr. Driver, as the marshal led away his protesting
captive. "I expect it happened just as he says--an open mutiny,
compelling him to shoot--but every Greek in his crew will go on the
stand and swear that it was a case of cold-blooded murder. Fortunately,
the judge is wise to Greek methods and the law deals gently with
commanders."
"He looked mighty young to be a captain," said Captain Westfield.
"It's this way," Mr. Driver explained, "the law compels the Greeks to
have an American captain for each schooner and diving boat, and they
hire the youngest and, therefore, cheapest man that they can get. It's
a dog's life, out alone for months with a gang that doesn't speak
a word of English. As long as the captain is content to be a mere
figurehead he can get along without serious trouble, but the minute
he runs counter to their wishes there is a row. But time is flying,
and I must get back to the store. If you will come back with me I'll
introduce you to a man who knows more about sponging than another
American in the country."
"Just a moment, lads," said the Captain, as they turned to go. "Which
of those schooners do you like the best?"
The two chums unhesitatingly indicated a beautiful two-masted,
snow-white schooner that seemed to rest as loftily on the water as a
floating swan. The grace and beauty of exquisite lines marked her out
from the many shapely schooners surrounding her. In large gilt letters
on either side of her bow was her name "Beauty".
"She's my choice too," declared the Captain. "I wish we owned her. I
ain't never seen a prettier model."