AFTER the crew had eaten their supper and rested a bit, the captain had them transfer the sponges from the diving boat to the deck of the schooner. The sponges made quite an imposing pile which the old sailor surveyed with satisfaction. "You've done well to-day," he remarked, "if every day's work is as good we'll have a valuable cargo before our three months are up. I reckon, thar's all of two hundred dollars' worth of sponges in that heap."
"Are you sure that you know how to clean and cure them right?" Charley enquired.
"I don't, but Chris knows that part of the business from A to Z. Where he comes from the people live by sponging and pearl fishing."
"Golly, dat's right," observed the little darkey. "I'se helped my daddy fix sponges many a time. First off, you'se got to beat de mud out ob dem wid sticks, den you got to let dem lay foah a day or two to die, 'cause dey's alive jus' like fishes. When dey's good an' dead, you puts dem in nets an' hangs dem ober de side for de water to wash dem out clean. Den you dry dem out on deck an' string dem out on strings 'bout two yards long. Dat makes dem all ready for market 'cept for clipping de bad parts off of dem, which is done on shore. Dar ain't nothin' 'bout fixin' up sponges dat dis nigger doan know."
Just then a small boat came alongside the schooner and the boys hastened to the side to welcome the two men it contained. They were the captain and mate of the schooner anchored nearest to the "Beauty". Both were young fellows hardly out of their teens. They introduced themselves as Steve Ward, and Ray Lowe.
"We thought we'd drop over and have a little chat with you," said Ward, who was the captain. "You, of course, don't realize it yet, but an American face looks mighty good amongst this army of Greeks, especially after one has been out for a month or two. We all start out together but before the season ends we get pretty widely scattered and to meet up with another schooner with an American aboard is like coming across a long-lost brother. This is my fifth trip and I am getting pretty well hardened to the loneliness now, but the first time I was out I nearly went crazy. After we parted from the rest of the fleet, it was worse than being alone on a desert island, for I had the misery of seeing others talk, laugh and enjoy themselves without being able to understand a word. When, at last, we came across a ship with someone aboard I could talk to I nearly cried for joy. It seemed so good to be able to understand and make myself understood once more." His glance fell upon Manuel George, who was leaning against the rail, and his gray eyes narrowed.