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."