"We have got to get a move on us," Captain Westfield said as the four chums gathered together at the breakfast table. "I've been out enquirin' around this mornin' an' I've larned that the sponging fleet sails in two days. Of course we don't have to go with the fleet, but, bein' as it's our first trip an' we're green at the business, I reckon, we had better keep with the crowd an' learn all we can. I've been up to see the United States Commissioner an' got charts of the sponging grounds an' took out papers for the ship. We're all officers on the papers, lads. He put me down as captain of the schooner, Chris is mate. You, Charley, are captain of the diving boats, an' Walter's chief engineer."

"I don't want to be no mate," Chris protested. "I wants to be de cook. Dat's schooner's got a powerful fine galley an' a sight ob pots an' kettles. Golly! I reckon dis nigger can fix up de grub better dan any of dem ignorant furriners. A mate ain't no manner ob count on board a little ship. De captain's always blamin' him for somethin' or udder an' de crew always hates him. He's always in trubble wid one or the udder. Now de cook's always his own boss, he don't hab to stay out nights in de cold an' de rain an' ebbery one is powerful perlite to him, 'cause dey wants to keep on de bes' side ob de one dat handles de grub. I'd rather be a cook dan an ole mate any day."

"But you don't know how to rig up their queer furrin dishes, lad," the captain explained. "They ain't used to eatin' grub fixed up good like you fix it."

"Golly! I reckon dat's so," agreed the little negro, pompously. "I spect dey doan know much 'bout cookin'. Reckon dey wouldn't eat any more ob der own if dey got a taste ob mine."

"That's the trouble," the captain agreed craftily, "an' we don't want to spoil them. Besides, I reckoned you'd like to be mate. Why, I was at sea ten years before I got a mate's berth. I reckon your folks on Cat Island would be mighty proud to hear that you were one an' was wearing a blue suit with big brass buttons, an' a cap with Mate on it in big gilt letters."

"Golly! I nebber thought ob dat," exclaimed the little negro, delightedly, rising hastily from the table. "I'se goin' to buy dem clothes right now an' hab my picture took in 'em an' send 'bout twenty ob dem to de folks on Cat Island."

"You got around that pretty neatly, Captain," Charley said, as soon as Chris was gone. "I expected him to insist upon being cook. He thinks no one else can do it so well. But, seriously, don't you think we are all rather young to be ship's officers. Men are quite apt to resent having to take orders from mere boys."

"The law requires that those four offices be filled by Americans an' we can't afford to hire men to fill the places. Chris will be under my orders all the time an' will be mate only in name. But you boys are already smart sailors an' I expect you to be real officers on your boats. If you weren't on the papers proper you might have trouble with your men, but the fact that you are regular commissioned officers will make smooth sailing for you. Any refusal to obey your orders would be mutiny."

"Very well, Captain," agreed Walter. "What do you want Captain West and I to do next?"

"Just lay around an' enjoy yourselves this mornin', I guess. The first thing is to get a fellow who talks Greek an' to hire a crew. I want to pick them out myself. As soon as we get them there will be plenty to do stockin' up with grub an' water. Better spend the time lookin' over your new command an' pickin' up what you can about the business."

The advice was good, and, as soon as they had finished breakfast, the boys hastened down to the harbor to inspect the diving boats they had acquired with the purchase of the 'Beauty'. Upon a close inspection, they were delighted with their new commands. The little vessel was quite new and its model promised great seaworthiness. Besides the huge square sail it carried, it was equipped with a ten-horse power gasoline engine. Its rig was different from any the boys had ever seen, and they spent several hours studying it, and making themselves acquainted with the working of the engine.

"I believe I can handle it by myself now, if I had to do it," Charley declared, at last. "The engine may give us a little trouble at first, but we will soon get on to it and it's likely there will be several Greeks in the crew who know how to run it. Now, the next thing is to settle on a name for our craft."

"I thought of calling it 'Flora'," Walter said, with a little sheepish smile.

"And I was thinking of naming it 'Ola'," declared Charley promptly.

After a spirited debate over the two names they held in such esteem, the two lads at last came to a compromise by agreeing to call their little ship "The Two Sisters". This decided, they rummaged around in the lockers until they found paint and brushes with which they proceeded to letter on the bow of their crafts the name chosen.

As soon as this task was finished, they returned to the village and made a round of the shops purchasing clothing for their trip, pricing provisions, and learning all they could from the various merchants about the Greeks and the sponge business.

They were passing a little photo studio when Chris' voice hailed them from inside. It was hard for them to refrain from laughter at the figure the little negro presented.

A common blue suit had been too tame a color for Chris' brilliant-loving soul. He was clothed in a pair of baggish yellow trousers, many sizes too large for him, a coat of vivid scarlet hue, and a cap of deepest purple. But in spite of his brilliant attire, his little ebony face expressed deepest satisfaction. On a chair beside him was a great pile of finished tin-types and the Greek proprietor, beaming at the unusual rush of business, was just adjusting his camera to take another.

"Why, what do you want with any more of them, Chris?" Walter exclaimed. "You've got enough already to supply everyone on Cat Island."

"Dey ain't no good," replied the little darkey, mournfully, "I 'spect dis man doan know his business."

Charley examined one of the despised tintypes. "Why, they look just like you," he declared.

"Dey's just black an' white," protested the little negro. "Dey doan show de colors at all."

The chums turned their heads aside to hide their grins.

"That's a Greek camera, Chris," Charley said with a wink at Walter. "You can't expect it to take American colors. I tell you what to do. Just write at the bottom of each picture: Pants, yellow; coat, scarlet; cap, purple."

"Golly! I nebber thought ob dat," exclaimed the little darkey, brightening. "But it hain't like habbing de colors show," he added, mournfully.

The three were making their way back to the hotel when their progress was arrested by piercing screams coming from the rear of a large Greek restaurant.

The boys hesitated and looked at each other.

"Sounds as though someone was hurt pretty bad," Charley commented, "but I guess we had better go along about our business. We are likely to get ourselves into trouble if we meddle with things in this section," but as he spoke the screams rang out afresh. The chums looked at each other; there was no need for words between them.

"Well, it's foolish, but here goes," Charley exclaimed.

A narrow alley led into the rear of the building and down it has hastened followed by his two companions.

A minute's walk brought them to the scene of the screams.

In a little back yard stood a small Greek boy about thirteen years of age. He was clad only in short trousers and his bare back and legs were covered with angry welts. Above him towered a dark, scowling Greek, who was swinging a heavy cowhide whip, while at each descent of the cruel, stinging lash the lad's screams rose in piteous protests. Clustered around was some dozen men and boys looking on with unconcern.

Charley caught the Greek's arm as it rose for another blow. "Stop that, you big brute," he cried, trembling with anger. "You have no right to beat a little fellow like that, no matter what he has done. If you hit him another blow, I'll have you arrested."

"He won't understand you, Charley," Walter cautioned.

But the Greek did understand. He turned a look of the deepest hate on the plucky lad. For a second he seemed in the act of striking him with the heavy whip, but Charley did not flinch. "Try it, if you dare," he cried.

The Greek lowered his upraised arm. "Why should I not strike him?" He demanded savagely, but in perfect English. "He is mine, I pay his fare all the way from Greece. All day he plays on the street and brings home no money. I will beat him if I wish."

"You will not," declared Charley, firmly. "If you do, you will be arrested very quickly. Lad, if this man attempts to beat you again, you come to us; you will find us on board the schooner 'Beauty'. If she is not in the harbor you go to Mr. Driver who owns the store, I will tell him about you and he will see that you are not abused. Do you understand what I say?"

"Yes sir, I speak English good," the little lad replied proudly. "He teach me so I can beg the pennies."

The Greek's manner had suddenly changed. His frown disappeared and he wore a smile that he endeavored to make pleasant.

"The noble young gentleman need not worry," he said, smoothly, "I love the boy and already regret having whipped him—he is very bad. But it shall happen no more."

"It had better not," Charley replied shortly, as he turned away. "Come on, Walt, I am going to speak to Mr. Driver about it now."

Mr. Driver listened to the lad's story with a very grave face. "I'm afraid you boys have made a dangerous enemy," he said. "That Greek is Manuel George, and he is a very bad character. He was arrested once for the murder of another Greek, but they could not prove the charge against him although everyone believed that he had done it. You want to be very careful as long as you are in Tarpon. I will gladly have him arrested if the boy makes any complaint to me."

The boys found the captain waiting for them at the hotel. "I've had the best of luck," the old sailor declared. "I found the very Greek we need to make our orders plain to the crew. He talks English as good as you or I. I did not lose any time in gettin' his name on the ship's papers. He promised to meet us here at the hotel this noon. There he comes now."

The chums exchanged a glance of dismay, for approaching their table, bowing, smiling, and as suave as though they were his dearest friends was Mr. Manuel George.