who believed in "resting while the resting was good," as he termed it, leaned back comfortably after his melon had vanished, and listened to the orchestra. Bob was too excited to keep quiet, however; he was taking peeps through the encircling palm branches, commenting on the curious jumble of people all about, and wishing that his father had been able to come with them.

"There's a couple o' British officers from the warship in the harbor, Mart!" he cried hastily. "There go those Chinese who were chattering away at the table next to us—wonder who'll take their place?"

Mart grinned easily, taking no interest. Suddenly he saw Bob lean forward, as if unbelieving his own eyes; a flush came into the eager lad's face, then he breathed a single incredulous gasp.

"By juniper!"

"What's the matter now?" queried his chum unconcernedly.

"By juniper!" exclaimed Bob again, more slowly. Then he leaned forward, watching. "Look, Mart! Of all the nerve!"

His tone roused Mart, who leaned over the table, glancing through the same opening which Bob was utilizing. A waiter stood over the table just on the other side of the palms, pulling back the chairs; slouching into their places were three men. Mart's eyes opened at sight of them, for they were no other than old Jerry Smith, the one-eyed seaman Birch, and Yorke, the old seaman with the twisted, leering mouth that was always smiling horribly. Mart chuckled.

"Well, what about it, Holly? Haven't they as much right here as we have?"

"But the nerve o' them!" Bob straightened up, his blue eyes flashing angrily. "Seamen like them comin' out here to Waikiki as if they were millionaires!"

"Well, I'm no millionaire myself," rejoined Mart quickly. "Judging from the crowd, everybody's welcome here that's got the price to pay, Bob. You're no better than anyone else, are you?"

"I didn't mean that!" retorted his chum, flaring up. "And you know it. Only it seems funny. Huh! look at that!"

Mart looked again, and saw Jerry fling a gold piece to the waiter. The crew had been given their wages up to date, he knew, so there was nothing strange in this, but when the quartermaster carelessly waved the waiter to keep the change, it did look queer.

"Well, boys," and the thin clear voice of old Jerry pierced to them, "here's a health to the old crowd, and a quick passing to the Pirate Shark! Pity all the boys ain't here."

"Blast that Swanson!" growled the one-eyed Birch evilly. "He kep' Jimmy Dailey an' Borden in his watch—"

"Shut up!" snapped out Yorke, with a leer around. Jerry laughed softly.

"Perfectly safe, Yorke, perfectly safe! Best place to talk is in the middle of a crowd, as old Bucko Tom used to say. You mind old Bucko Tom, boys? Fish tell no tales—"

"Stow that jaw o' yours," exclaimed Yorke again. "I say it ain't safe."

The two boys looked at each other. Bob's eyes were burning, and Mart knew his own cheeks were flushed.

"Lay low," he said softly, his hand on Bob's wrist. "There's somethin' going on here, Holly. Remember when Swanson an' Jerry met, the night we sailed?"

Bob nodded excitedly, and Mart pressed him back out of sight. The young wireless operator was more deeply alarmed than he showed, and had no scruples about listening. They were not intentionally spying, and even if they had been, he would have thought little of it.

He remembered the strange things that had already chanced—the evident acquaintance between Swanson and the rest of their crew, the significant conversation between the first mate and the quartermaster, the tales about Jerry's former life. Then there was this toast to the Pirate Shark! What did it all mean? And Bucko Tom—that was the man Jerry had "got" according to Swanson's talk that first night. What was going on here beneath the surface? Could these old men really have all been part of a pirate crew in other days?

"That's what it looks like," concluded Mart under his breath, as he outlined his thoughts to Bob. Then he repressed his chum's answer, for old Jerry's voice was once more reaching them, soft and gentle as ever.

"The mystery o' the sea, lads, wave after wave, wi' the fish down below and us up above. Now, how'll we make out with it? Singapore?"

"Singapore nothin'!" growled Birch, his one eye blazing darkly. "No British investigations for me, Shark Smith! No, I say let's go up to Saigon or one o' them there French ports."

Yorke leered, his twisted mouth grimacing. "Birch is right, Shark. Keep away from the Britishers. You lads mind the time when the Coralie put into Sarawak—"

"None of that, Yorke, none o' that!" warned Jerry, his voice piercing like a knife. "We ain't back in 'Frisco now, remember that. Keep names out of it, lads."

Mart thrilled excitedly as he caught a glance from Bob. Inwardly he determined to find out more about this mysterious ship Coralie.

As if they had taken caution, the three old men leaned over the table and spoke in whispers, Yorke's twisted mouth leering, and Birch's one black eye flaming across the table at the gentle, white-haired quartermaster. Mart noticed that they seemed to pay him deference, and he did most of the conversing, but so softly that no word reached the startled boys. Then the three rose, and Birch spoke in a louder voice.

"Well, Shark Smith's got a head on him, lads! That's the thing to do—wait. Joe Swanson won't leave his old mates in a hole, neither. Wait—that's the word!"

All three lurched off, but Bob gazed over at his chum in wild surmise.

"Mart, there's somethin' wrong, by juniper! What's in the wind?"

"Search me, Holly. Of course it looks queer—but they're all old men. I wouldn't be s'prised if old Jerry was off his head, mumbling like he does. As far as being pirates goes, that's all foolishness; pirates ain't old men like them, and besides, piratin' is gone out of style these days."

"I guess that's true, Mart. They're all old men, for a fact, and I've noticed that Borden complains of rheumatism pretty bad. Pirates don't have rheumatism, in any book I ever read. Still, they're a queer gang—Birch with his one eye and Yorke with that silly-lookin' twisted mouth of his."

"Yes, they're queer," agreed Mart thoughtfully. "I tell you, Holly, let's go back and put it up to your dad. He said he'd have more time to give us, now, and he's a mighty square sort of man."

"Yes, but we promised Jerry to keep quiet!" objected Bob hastily.

"Well, we don't have to say anythin' about the Pirate Shark, do we? That ain't what's on my mind, anyhow. I'm thinking about what they said about getting to Singapore or Saigon, and about the Coralie and the Melbourne, and all that. If they're a gang of pirates, we want to know it. And your dad's level-headed, Holly."

To this Bob agreed, being himself in no little alarm over the things he had heard and the other things he imagined. So without more ado the two boys made their way back to the hotel, and with every step their imaginations rose higher. By the time they located Captain Hollinger in the writing room, both were flushed and bursting with their tidings. When the captain saw them, he gave a startled exclamation.

"Good gracious! What've you boys been up to? What's the matter?"

"Come along up to the rooms," said Bob mysteriously. "We've got some news."

Captain Hollinger followed them, with laughing questions as to their evening's amusement, but neither boy would say a word until they were safely within their rooms. Then Mart whirled about excitedly.

"Say, Cap'n, do you know we got a bunch o' pirates aboard the Seamew?"

"We've—what?"

"You bet!" added Bob hastily. "Old Jerry Smith's the head of the gang, and Joe Swanson was with 'em on a pirate ship!"

"Look here, what's happened to you two?" exclaimed the captain wonderingly. "Are you trying to put up a joke on me?"

"Not much," retorted Mart, and plunged into their story. With interruptions and