can't fool me, if I am old."

"Steal your island?" asked Marjorie. "Why, how could anybody steal
an island?"

"What's on it?" whispered Dinshaw.

"Oh, ho," said Locke. "Then there's something on it, is there? Now
we're interesting! Treasure, I suppose."

"Gold on it," piped Dinshaw, with childish simplicity. "Gold enough
to make us all rich. Gold enough to ballast a hundred ships!"

"Ye see that reef? Well, I lay in that bight thar, an' the sun come
out. The eye o' the storm it was, and after awhile it come on to
blow again, as is the custom with twisters. When the weather
cleared again, I don't know how long it was, I crawled down and
overhauled the flotsam. There was part of Number One boat, with a
beaker o' water an' a ham from the cabin stores. Later, I found my
mate, Seth Colburn. He was dead. He'd sailed with me all his life,
come from down Eastport way, and a smart man he was, too, at
figgers. I dug his grave with my bare hands in this patch o' sand,
right there under the ridge, and it was all yaller, shinin' in the
sun, as it run through my fingers. All glittery an' soft, like corn
meal. That island's full o' it, I'm tellin' ye! It'll make us all
rich!" His voice rose, and quavered with excitement.

Locke looked at Trask questioningly.

"Here," said Trask, passing Dinshaw the glass which the bar-boy
brought. "Drink this."

"Jarrow said he'd take me," gasped Dinshaw after he had drunk.

"Who's Jarrow?" asked Trask.

"Oh, he's got a schooner," said Dinshaw.

"So your island is full of gold," said Locke, with a skeptical wink
for the benefit of Trask and Marjorie. "And you sell pictures of
it, eh?"

"Aye, gold. An' Seth Colburn's buried in it. He'd laugh if he knew.
But Jarrow'll take me some day, an' when he does, I'll go back to
Yarmouth an' build a big house, all snug an' shipshape, with a
piazza like the quarter-deck of a frigate, an' a garden with
petunias, an'--an'--have good soup for supper. I fed my crew
better'n Prayerful Jones does, an' I tell him so every day. Them
that sailed with Cap'n Dinshaw had duff twice a week with raisins
in it, sir, an' Wes' Injia m'lasses."

Marjorie passed Dinshaw a plate of sandwiches and served him with a
cup of coffee. Trask drew aside, and Locke followed him.

"This is right in your line," said Locke.

"I've a mind to investigate it," said Trask. "Heard some talk about
it on my way down from Amoy."

"Sounds fishy to me," said Locke. "I believe he's of