“Maybe,” said Rantan, “but seems to me there’s not much doing at Tahiti. Hasn’t it ever hit you that there’s money to be made in the islands and better work to be done than bumming about on the beach? I don’t mean hard work, handling cargo or running a ship—I mean money to be picked up, easy money and plenty of it.”
The big red man laughed and spat over the rail.
“Not much,” said he, “not by the likes of me or you; clam shells is all there’s to be picked up by the likes of me and you when the other chaps have eaten the chowder.”
“How’d you like ten thousand dollars in your fist?” asked Rantan, “twenty—thirty—there’s no knowing what it might come to, and all for no work at all but just watching kanakas diving for pearls.”
Carlin glanced sideways at his companion.
“What are you getting at?” asked he.
“Well, I’ll tell you,” said Rantan, “I know of a pearl island and it’s not far from here. It’s a sealed lagoon, never been worked, and there’s enough there to make a dozen men rich, but to get there I’d want a ship, but I haven’t got one nor the money to charter one; I’m like you, see?”
“What are you getting at?” asked Carlin again, a new tone in his voice.
“I’m just saying I haven’t a ship,” replied the other, “but I know where to get one if I could find a chap to help me in the taking of her.”
Carlin leaned further over the rail and spat again
