King o' the Beach Part 17

"Not much luck, Bob," said Carey.

"What! Look at these two sh.e.l.ls; and there goes another oyster for the pot. Reg'lar fat one. I do call it luck. Bet a penny we do better with the oysters and the tackle for the soup than the doctor does.

Besides, we're going to ketch some fish."

It was very pleasant sitting there in the suns.h.i.+ne, with the cocoanut-trees waving and bending in the soft breeze to his right, the calm lagoon, dazzling in its brightness, to his left, and away beyond it the silver spray of the breakers thundering softly upon the coral reef.

Then, too, there was a submarine garden in every pool, and a luxury of beauty on all sides, even to his very feet. The only thing which seemed repellent to Carey was the growing heap of pearl sh.e.l.ls, and the work upon which Bostock was engaged, which the boy looked upon with disgust.

"Bah!" he exclaimed at last; "you're a regular oyster butcher, Bob.

It's horribly messy."

"Don't you call things by ugly names, Master Carey," said the old man, stolidly. "Butchers aren't a nice trade sartinly, but think of the consekenses. Think on it, my lad. Who's got a word to say agin the butcher when there's a prime joint o' juicy roast beef on the table, with the brown fat and rich gravy. Ah! it seems sad, it do."

"What, to kill the oxen?"

"Nay, not it. They was made to be killed. I meant having all that beautiful stock o' coal on board, and the cook's stove ready, and no beef to roast. There, you needn't look at my messy hands; I shall wash 'em when I've done. You look at the insides of them big sh.e.l.ls; they're just like to-morrow morning when you've got the watch on deck and the sun's just going to rise. I've seen the sky like that lots o' times, all silver and gold, and pale blue and grey. I say, seems a pity; we've got lots o' crockery ware in the stooard's place. Them sh.e.l.ls would make lovely plates, painted ten hunderd times better than those we've got aboard. It's just as if natur had made 'em o' purpose. Just think of it eating--or drinking: which do you call it?--soup, oyster soup, out of an oyster sh.e.l.l, enjoying the look o' the sh.e.l.l with your eyes.

There, that's the last of 'em," he continued, as he wrenched open the last pair of sh.e.l.ls.

"But I expected we were going to get some pearls as well, and out of these twenty great oysters you haven't got one."

"Haven't I?" cried the old sailor, with a hearty chuckle. "Just you feel here."

"I'm not going to mess my hand with the nasty thing," said Carey, with a look of disgust.

"Who wants you to, sir? Only wants the tip o' one finger. Here you are. Yes, and here, and here. I say, what do you think of that?" cried the old fellow, reaching out the sh.e.l.l he held. "Just one finger and you'll feel 'em, nubbly like."

"Pearls!" cried Carey, excitedly, and, forgetting all about the messiness of the great wet shapeless-looking mollusc, he used both finger and thumb. "Here, cut them out."

This was soon done, and the boy sat with his face flushed, gazing with delight at three beautifully l.u.s.trous pearls lying in the palm of his hand glistening in the bright suns.h.i.+ne, one being of the size of a large pea, and the others of good-sized shot.

"Beauties, aren't they, sir?"

"Lovely," cried Carey, who, recovering as he was from a painful illness, was full of appreciation of everything he saw. "Yes, they are lovely; and only to think of it, if we had not found them they would have lain there and perhaps never have been seen."

"Like enough, my lad. There must be millions and millions about here."

"Yes," said the boy, with a sigh. "Here, put them in your pocket, Bob,"

and he held them to his companion as if wanting to get them out of sight.

"What for? Aren't you got one?"

"Yes, but you found them; they're yours."

"Nay, we found 'em; and besides, I'm only a common sailor, and like your servant. You keep 'em."

"It wouldn't be fair, Bob," said Carey. "You have the best right to them."

"Tchah! They're no good to me. I should on'y sell 'em to somebody if ever we got away, for the price of a pound o' 'bacco as would go away all in smoke. Once upon a time I should ha' took 'em home to my old mother. Now I aren't got one, and you have. So you have 'em made into a ring some day, with the big un in the middle and the little uns one on each side."

"Shall I, Bob?"

"O' course. There. Now I shall just sink that bucket in the clear, cool water so as the soup stuff keeps good. There we are, and those bits o' clean coral to keep 'em down. Now I washes my hands in that little bit of a rock basin and they aren't a bit messy; dries 'em in the hot sand, and now what do you say to trying for a bit o' fish?"

"Capital," cried Carey, excitedly.

"On'y I tell you what; we'll tie one end of the line to the raft, so that you can let go if we get hold of a big un. I'm not going to have you hauling and hurting your sore place."

"That will be all right."

"No, it won't, unless you promise you'll let go if it's a big un."

"I promise," said Carey, "for I don't believe we shall catch any."

"Well, there's something in that," said the old sailor, "for the number o' times a man goes fis.h.i.+ng and don't ketch nothing's a thing to think on."

Bostock talked a great deal, but he was not like a gardener, who somehow can never answer a question without stopping short; say, if he is digging, driving the spade into the ground, resting one foot upon it, and resting his fist upon the handle. Bob Bostock's hands were always busy, and while he was chatting about the fish he was picking up a few damaged sc.r.a.ps of sh.e.l.ly oyster, laying them in a sh.e.l.l for bait, and then preparing the line by tying on the lead and a good-sized hook.

"Now then, my lad; ready?" he cried.

"Oh, yes, I'm ready and waiting," replied the boy. "I say, doesn't it make you feel in good spirits to be out here? I should like to run and shout."

"Then you just won't, my lad. But it do seem jolly and comf'table like.

I feel as if I could sit down and whistle for hours. Now then, don't you get that line tangled. I've laid it all in a hank ready to run out; and don't ram them hooks in your fingers, because they're hard to cut out. Now, you carry them and the sh.e.l.l o' bait and I'll carry you."

"No, no; I'll take off my shoes and socks, and tuck up my trousers."

"Tucking up wouldn't do. You'd have to take 'em off, and then you'd cut your feet on the sharp coral. You're going to do what I sez."

"I say, Bob, what an old tyrant you are! Just you wait till I get well and can do as I like."

"All right, my lad; I'm waiting. Then you can do as you like, but you can't yet. Here, you be off. None o' them games, or I shall have to shoot you."

"No, I shall," said Carey.

"Nay, that you won't," growled the old sailor. "I'm not going to stand by while you fires that gun as'll kick and upset your shoulder again."

"Bother my shoulder!" cried Carey, impatiently, and he leaned back to gaze up at two beautiful grey and white gulls which for the last few minutes had been sailing gracefully round them and coming nearer and nearer, watching the two strangers curiously the while.

"They're after the oysters, Bob," said Carey.

"Yes, smells 'em, or sees 'em. Birds have got wonderful eyes and noses."

"Beaks, Bob," said Carey, laughing.

"Smellers, then, my lad. Well, they can't get at the soup meat in the bucket, and they only clean the sh.e.l.ls, so we'll let 'em alone. Now then, up you come."

The next minute Bostock was wading out to the raft with Carey in his arms, after which he poled their clumsy craft out to the end of the two coral ridges which formed the little ca.n.a.l.

As soon as he had made fast, the hook was carefully baited, the line laid in rings with one end fastened to a plank, and with a gentle swing the lead thrown out into a clear spot, to fall with a splash in the smooth water, forming rings which ever widened as they glided away.