order. It's prob'ly a sea yarn."

"I ain't so sure," returned Mart. "It sounds fishy," and Bob grinned. "Well, it does, for a fact. But Jerry believes it himself, that's sure. I tell you what, Holly, if that Pirate Shark's really there, and them Kanakas get to diving, we're goin' to see something! Some idea, though! A big shark cruising around the pearling beds, killing men, and finally taking possession of an old wreck full o' treasure! Why, it reads like—like a Jules Verne story! Say—you remember that dynamite your dad said Jerry wanted put aboard?"

Bob looked up, startled, and gave a nod.

"Well, I bet a cookie Jerry's goin' after that Pirate Shark with it!"

"What!" Bob's blue eyes widened and his face lost its careless expression. "By juniper! Mart, do you s'pose he's after the gold? Let's ask dad—maybe that's what he meant all along by gold mining—"

"Hold on there," cried Mart, hauling back the eager Holly. "We promised we wouldn't say anything to your dad or the mate, remember? Hello, here comes Birch with a message I've got to send, prob'ly."

"I'll ask him," began Bob, then the one-eyed seaman entered and touched his brow.

"Cap'n's compliments, Mr. Judson," he said in his ever-respectful way, "and he wants you to send this here message."

"All right, Birch," and Mart took the note. "Just a moment! Did you ever hear of the Pirate Shark?"

For a moment both boys were frightened by the effect of those words. The old seaman whirled about, his one black eye blazing weirdly and his face contorted. Then he collected himself with a little laugh.

"Beg pardon, sir. That there word 'pirate' allus gets me, 'count of a brush I oncet had with pirates in the Sulu Sea. Why, sir, I've heard summat o' that there fish; they say he's a monster shark with a black fin, that he's a man-eater, an' haunts the pearl fisheries. Beggin' your pardon, sir, but where might you have heard of him?"

"Oh, we just heard some of the men talking," answered Bob carelessly, and Birch touched his forelock again and was gone. For a second time the boys' eyes met.

"Holly, this doesn't look right to me," said Mart finally, his gray eyes hard. "Birch knows more'n he said. That explanation of his don't go down with me, not a bit! I wouldn't wonder if there was such a fish—right where we're going, too!"

"By juniper!" Holly's face was troubled. "Of course, it's likely; such a fish would hang around the pearl beds, 'cause that's where he'd most likely meet up with divers. If he's a man-eater, he'd do that. The story sticks together pretty well, Mart! Of course we've got to remember that sailor yarns generally are stretched."

"Well, you lay low," cautioned Mart, reaching for his key and sending out a crashing spark in call, over and over. Then he leaned back and waited for an answer. "We can't go to your dad with this, and anyway, Bob, there ain't much behind it. Here—I'll tell you! Mebbe that shark is there, and old Jerry got the dynamite to have some fun with on his own hook. If there was any wreck or treasure, he'd have kept his mouth shut."

"That sounds more like it, Mart. Still, he's a talkative old guy, and he likes us a heap, you in particular. There's somethin' queer about it, though. Jerry said that Dailey—the leathery old scoundrel—had sailed with him before; then there was that talk between him and Swanson. And have you noticed anythin' queer about the way those men hang together?"

Mart sent him a quick look, as he adjusted his headpiece.

"Huh? Well, I've noticed that they obey Swanson a heap quicker than they do Peters. Peters got mad yesterday an' knocked that grinnin' Yorke galley-west! But they're old men, Bob."

"That's just it," returned Holly earnestly. "So's Jerry old, and Swanson ain't a spring chicken by any means. They hang together, that's all. And remember, Jerry was the one that signed 'em all on. I'll get dad to mention the Coralie one o' these days."

"Well, you go slow," cautioned Mart again. "Hello—there's a call—" he leaned forward. "TTY—that's the Tenyo Maru. She's just out o' San Francisco, so she can relay a message, I guess. Golly, your dad's keepin' close watch on the stock market!"

He grinned as he sent out the message and Bob 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, thanks," chuckled Mart. "Nothing in that line for us. Plain ice cream and melon for me."

"Same here," nodded Bob. The little waiter bobbed again and was gone.

"Golly, ain't this quiet an' restful!" breathed Mart. "This place is just like fairyland to me, Holly. I'd like to stay here a week instead of two days!"

"Oh, we got enough ahead of us," laughed the other happily. "By juniper, this place is crowded! He must have stuck us off here in the corner because we didn't look like good spenders, eh?"

At this juncture the little Japanese returned with their melon and ice cream, which he set down rather superciliously. Mart, who had been paid off that day, in common with the rest of the crew, handed him a dollar.

"Here, keep the change, and don't come back for a while. We won't order any more, and we're going to stay right here, savvy?"

The little waiter bowed low, grinned cheerfully, and vanished behind the palms that hedged in their table. Both boys were rather glad to be out of the crowd, however; they could hear perfectly, could get occasional glimpses of the people around them, and out beyond them the white surf broke and maintained its low thunder as the tide came in.

Mart,