LOST ISLAND
Dave, consumed with curiosity, held out his hand for the glasses.
"Away, child, away," commanded the cook with his eyes still glued to them. "Here is work for men, not infants. A two-thousand-ton steamer, as I live. We 'll all have rings on our fingers and bells on our toes after this, for the cap'n doesn't get all the salvage money. I dunno what share the cook gets, eggsactly, but it ought to be about half, I reckon. You 'll pick up a few hundred dollars too, kid, maybe, though I'm sure you don't deserve it. Here, take a squint through these binoculars; though you don't deserve that, either."
Dave, rapidly growing more excited as they ran nearer the vessel, tried to discern some sign of life on board her, but could not. He did not understand quite what the cook meant about salvage, though it sounded good.
The engine-room telegraph rang, and the Pacific Queen slowed down. The order came from the
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