an out a pile, but I need a good man of your
profession in with me. How about you?"

"I'd jump into anything clean," asserted Barry promptly. "But what's the
golden hoodle?"

"A brigantine and sealed orders," grinned Little, with an air of mock
mystery. "Are you a sure-enough skipper, though?"

Barry nodded, then turned. Along the wharves were junks, island
schooners, cargo tramps, and riffraff of the Seven Seas, but only one
brigantine. It was an uncommon rig in the port. The craft lay far down
the quay, and even at that distance looked old and desolate.

"That?" he asked, pointing.

"Good eye," chuckled Little admiringly. "How d' ye guess?"

"She's the only brigantine in the port...."

"Oh, glory! Real story-book salt, hey? Show you a hunk o' wood, and
you'll tell me the family history of the skipper of the hooker it came
out of, hey? Barry, you're all to the mustard!"

Little clapped him on the shoulder, and Barry gazed into his snapping
black eyes for a moment.

"Mr. Little," he said quietly, "if you're always as easy in your choice
of men you're not the wise owl I thought you at first sight."

"Me? Good guesser, that's all," returned Little, unrebuked. "Think I'm
an easy mark, hey? Muggins from Muggsville? Come again, Barry. Beg
pardon, Cap'n Barry, I should say. Haul th' bowline! Jack up th'
fo'c'sle yard! See, I'm also a tarry shellback way down deep."

Barry laughed outright. It was impossible to maintain a frown or a doubt
in the salesman's breezy presence. "Just what is your proposition?" he
asked at length.

"Sh! Clap a stopper on your jaw-tackle!" Again that air of mock mystery
came into Little's face. "Say, d' you know old Cornelius Houten?"

"Heard of a trader by that tally. Don't know him."

"Same man," Little nodded. "Only one like him. Known him a long time.
Sold him a parcel of machines for his Government. He's a queer old duck.
Made me a proposition last night. Millions in it. Chucked up my job by
cable right away. Sorry this morning, though. Like a dream. I wanted to
hunt up a fellow who could put me wise on binnacles and charts and
things like that. Get me?"

"As far as you've gone," chuckled Barry.

"Well, Houten likes my style. Thinks I can do this job as well as I sold
typewriters. I like you, too. See the drift? Come to his office with me
and give the thing the once over. If you say O.K., you come in on it,
and we'll sign up right away. I told Houten I was going to find a man.