"He started early for the Tortugas and will not come back till late. I tried to keep him here, and out of the water, but I can't. I know he is diving again. I can tell by his red eyes when he returns. He talks about doing it so that I may go North to school, and makes me forget how hard he is working by telling me how much fun it is, and how he made a dummy man for the sharks to charge at. As soon as they bite at it a torpedo goes off and kills them. He says that long before he gets old he will really quit, and we will be so happy together."
"But I want to see your father this morning; in fact, it is important," I insisted quietly.
"Yes, it is very important." I'll admit I lacked courage to tell her why, for it seemed a pity to disturb her delightful state of mind.
"I could take you out there in the _Titian_, but my father would be displeased if it were not something very important. I never did that before," she said, coming closer and eyeing me fearlessly.
"Your father would not be displeased. He would say you were the bravest and best little girl in the world." She had apparently been taught to obey and never thought to ask why I wanted to see him.
"Oh, I will gladly go. I love the water and the _Titian_ is so fast and seems to love it, too," and with no more ado she called to Don to bring the _Titian_ alongside the wharf and take off the cover.
The negro slid off, turtlelike, into the ebb tide and waded out to the boat, which he soon made ready for the trip.
The girl felt for her shark knife, to be sure it was there, and went into the store and got her rifle. "Daddy says for me never to go out without a rifle and a shark knife, as I may need them any time," she explained as I looked on wonderingly.
"He says, with a shark knife, rifle, some 'terrors,' an oxygen tank and a good boat, there is little danger," she volunteered, somehow thinking it necessary to reassure me as we walked to the power boat now ready for us.
The boat evidenced a feminine touch. Painted, varnished, brass shining spick and span, as would the engine room of an ocean liner. Perhaps thirty-five feet over all without a cabin, though there were bunks for two in the bow ahead of the steering wheel protected from the weather by a cowl over which the little girl could just see when standing. The shining, six-cylinder motor, with up-to-date starter and reverse clutch, was in the center at the bottom of an open cockpit extending clear astern, surrounded by seats under which was closed storage space.