watched the blue spark
leaping in fascinated silence. After all, this story of the Pirate Shark
was a wild fancy, and these were the prosaic days of wireless and steam
power; the whole tale was doubtless one of those strange and utterly
improbable yarns that some intoxicated sailor cooks up and other sailors
improve upon and embellish. At least, that was the opinion of the two
boys as they left the wireless house and joined Captain Hollinger, who
had just come to take the bridge. Mart wished they had not made Jerry
that promise, however.

CHAPTER V

WHAT HAPPENED AT HONOLULU

Back in Honolulu Bay lay the _Seamew_, and here at Waikiki were Captain
Hollinger, Bob, and Mart, spending two days at the great Moana Hotel.
For Waikiki is the great seaside resort of Honolulu--throbbing with
motor cars, gay with villas and stately with hotels; trolley cars
running to the city brought out the tourists and surf-bathers, as well
as everyone in Honolulu who could get a day off to go on a picnic.

To Mart it was wonderful in the extreme. Captain Hollinger was busy with
his cables and letters, for after leaving Honolulu he would not be in
touch with business or friends for three weeks or a month, except by
wireless. So the two boys were seeing the sights by themselves, more or
less, which did not detract from their enjoyment a bit.

It was the evening of their first day ashore, and the captain had gone
over to the cable office. The boys, after dinner, had wandered around
through the crowds, avidly watching everything, from the Portuguese
women selling fruit, to the phosphorescent surf rolling in across the
reef in the moonlight.

Finally they turned in at the big gateway of the Japanese Inn, tired and
thirsty and with curiosity somewhat satisfied. A Japanese waiter,
dressed in his white garments, received them smilingly and led them in
through the building to the _lanai_, or veranda, opening on the beach.

They passed between the tables, where sat every kind of
people--millionaire tourists, common sailors, magnificently gowned
women, natives, townfolk--and finally dropped into chairs at a small
table set among the palms and looking out on the sea. The place was set
aside by itself, out of the glare of electric lights, and the two boys
sighed contentedly as the music blared out inside and their little
waiter bobbed respectfully.

"Mebbe you have some whiskey?" he queried with bland innocence. Bob
grinned.

"No, thank