ight, get our wireless in shape over to-morrow, to pass the
port inspectors, and rest up Sunday. I'll detail Bob to help you--he's
been acting as supercargo up to date."

"Much obliged," grunted Bob sarcastically, "How about an outfit? Will
Mart have to get any clothes?"

"Not on my ship. They'll come out of the slop-chest. Oh, you needn't
look that way, Mart," and the financier laughed at Mart's dismay.
"Slop-chest is sailors' slang for ship's stores. Just fetch your
ordinary clothes. Bob, you'd better get that stateroom next to yours
fixed up; then you boys can be together. Now, is there anything more you
fellows want to know?"

"Lots," shot out Mart with a sigh as he rose to his feet. "I want to
know so much that it makes my head ache to think of it--but I've got to
get back and get these fixtures down to the Peniel before dark. I'll
turn up in the morning ready for work. And, say, I'm sure grateful to
you, Mr.--er--Captain Hollinger! And I'll do my best to earn my salary,
you can be sure of--"

"Well, get along with you," broke in the financier, smiling. "See you
to-morrow!"

Bob walked up the wharf with his friend, and as they parted, Mart turned
to him.

"By golly, Bob," he said slowly, "I can't believe it! Say, won't we have
one peach of a time, though? S'pose your dad will take us along after
the tigers?"

"Of course he will!" agreed Holly, who had stout confidence in his
father. "We've got more rifles and guns coming down to-morrow than you
can shake a stick at. And we'll go down in the diving suits, too--dad's
promised that already. Well, so long! See you to-morrow."

As Mart Judson walked up the street, he trod on air. It was like a dream
come true. He would be crossing the Pacific, going to foreign lands,
getting the very job he had been vainly longing for--and getting paid
for it all!

"I wonder if it's really true," he thought, staring with unseeing eyes
at the scenes around him. "Blamed if it ain't too good to _be_
true--tiger shooting and diving and gold mines--Oh, what's the use! I'm
dreaming!"

CHAPTER II

JERRY SMITH, QUARTERMASTER

"How's she coming? It's 'most noon, Mart."

"Huh? Oh, she's great. I can't find anything wrong, except a little
rust. I'll take a look at that transmitting jigger and send out a flash,
I guess."

"What's the transmitting jigger?"

"This--the oscillation transformer. It transfers the primary circuit
energy, which has low potential, to the aeria