y."

"Right now. Ah Sing has the grub ready, I guess. Hike along, you
pirate!"

And Mart hiked with a wide grin.

CHAPTER III

OFF FOR TRINGANU

It was Sunday afternoon. Joe Swanson and the second mate, "Liverpool"
Peters, had departed that morning to enjoy their last few hours on
shore. Captain Hollinger, Mart, and Bob were alone on board, save for
the steward, and the three were sitting around a big pitcher of lemonade
under the after-deck awnings. The financier-yachtsman was
enthusiastically outlining his plans for sport during his trip.

"We're going to have a great time, boys," he exclaimed heartily, "I've
got everything on board you can think of, from tackle for sharks to
dynamite."

"Huh? Dynamite?" asked Mart quickly. "What's that for, Cap'n?"

"I don't know," returned the captain coolly. The two boys stared.

"What--you don't know?" asked Bob in surprise. His father laughed.

"No. I put it aboard at the suggestion of old Jerry Smith. He said we
might have need for it during the diving operations, and I simply took
his advice. He's pretty well posted on everything out in that section of
the world, and promises me some exciting sport shooting tigers."

"I thought tigers were found only in India," put in Mart, puzzled.
"That's where they usually shoot 'em, isn't it?"

"No," said the captain, leaning back and lighting his cigar. "No, Mart,
you're off there. You'll find tigers all through the Malay States and up
into China proper--I believe they've even been found in parts of Japan.
We're going to have some great shooting, boys! And while I'm off with
you in the jungle, or hills--for I'm not sure which we'll find--old
Jerry can be managing the diving and dredging operations at the other
end without bothering me till the work's ready for inspection."

"What's Jerry gettin' out o' this?" queried Mart thoughtfully.

"Oh, I'm to allow him one-third of the stock. Our consul at Singapore is
already getting us the concession, and Jerry has letters from the Sultan
of Tringanu to all the native chiefs."

"What're they like, dad?" Bob sat up. "The letters, I mean."

"They're written in Arabic," laughed his father. "There are a good many
Arabs out in that part of the world, and I suppose Arabic is the usual
written language; or rather, the Malays use the Arabic characters.
They're all Mohammedans, anyway."

"Can't we take a squint at those diving outfits?" Mart looked out at the
sparkling waters of