CHAPTER VIII.
A GREAT FIND.
"When do we begin, Max?"
Steve asked this question a short time after the three left in the camp had cleaned up the tin pans used in preparing and eating the warm meal, and Owen had gone off to try and secure a mess of bass for supper.
Steve had been usually fast in his share of the work, even for him. Max had noticed this fact, and could give a good guess as to what was spurring the other on to such exertions.
"Begin what?" he asked, as if in dense ignorance.
"Why, in opening our catch, you know," Steve replied, jerking his thumb to where the little pile of mussels lay, close by the camp fire.
Steve had himself emptied the two bags, upon their arrival in camp. Evidently he did not mean to take any chances of having the precious bivalves stolen by the prowling half-grown wild boy. And in order to provide against such a catastrophe he had been very careful to deposit their morning's "catch" in an open spot so destitute of shrubbery that no one could approach within ten feet unseen.
Max smiled.
Truth to tell he was a little eager himself to set to work investigating the insides of these shells.
The remarkable luck attending their first attempt gave him more or less hope that other prizes might crop up to reward their continued efforts.
And the Outing Boys had outlined such a glorious programme for the long vacation, if only they could raise the large amount of money needed to carry out their ardent plans, that naturally Max was heart and soul interested in the result.
Besides, Max had a half-formed resolution that if luck favored them, so that they found another pearl, he would set a trap that very evening. He was burning with eager curiosity to discover whether Steve might repeat his strange action of the preceding night. And in case this happened, Max was grimly resolved to settle the matter once and for all by clutching hold of the other while in the act.
"Oh! you're wondering whether we're going to find anything in that lot; is that it!" Max remarked, as he picked up an old oyster knife he had carried along for the purpose of prying open the mussels, no easy task for greenhorns at the business, as the boys' cut fingers already testified.
"You just bet I am," returned Steve, possessing himself of the heavy kitchen knife. "Come along and let's see if we had our wading and toting the find all the way to camp for nothing."
"Just as you say," Max continued.
"What d'ye take that kettle for!" asked Steve.
"To hold the mussels as we get 'em out. Let the meat and juice drop in here. Then we'll examine the whole thing several times for results. And don't forget, both Toby and Bandy-legs made us promise to have a mess of these same fresh-water clams cooked for supper."
So, taking the vessel and the much-used oyster knife, Max squatted on the ground tailor fashion alongside the pile of shellfish.
Both of them set to work, Max calmly, as was his wont, but Steve showing the greatest nervousness.
Finding that his method of trying to open the stubborn bivalves was awkward, as they could not be handled like oysters, Max took a second knife. Placing the mussel in an upright position he would drive the blade down between the two shells by giving it several sharp taps with a piece of wood. When the stubborn mussel finally yielded to this treatment Max was able to turn back one shell, and then scrape out the entire contents of the other.
A dozen had been opened presently, and so far as they could see, there was not a sign of a pearl, large or small.
Steve's disappointment made itself manifest in the look that gradually crept over his face.
"Guess we've drawn a blank this time, Max," he remarked, when the seventeenth bivalve failed to yield up any gleaming little milk-white prize.
"Oh! that isn't a dead sure thing," replied the other, never ready to yield his hopeful spirit, "this is a lottery, you know. The pearls are to be found. We know that, Steve, by our first success. If not in this lot, perhaps in what our chums bring later. There are other days to follow; and we're bound to put in a week trying our luck."
That was the sort of talk to buoy up Steve's spirits. He was always an impulsive chap, and had often been called "Touch-and-Go Steve," because of his quick temper. It had many times carried him into serious trouble, though, as is usually the case with these impetuous fellows, Steve always quickly repented of his wrath, and was apt to apologize.
"Here goes for the eighteenth," he remarked, picking up another mussel, and setting to work industriously.
"This is a scrawny looking one, and I just reckon it'll be time wasted," he added.
"You never can tell," laughed Max, himself busily engaged.
"That's so," Steve went on; "because they do say these precious little pearls are manufactured by the oyster or mussel to cover up some gritty object that has managed to work into the shell, and which they just can't eject."
"Yes, that's the accepted theory," Max asserted.
"When I read that, I remember figuring out how a smart genius might make a few millions," remarked Steve.
"You mean by introducing the same kind of grit in some hundreds of shellfish, and making the things work up a lot of fine pearls, eh, Steve?"
"That's what. Don't you think it could be done, Max?"
"Well, I've heard it's been tried, but since the price of pearls has advanced all the while, I guess the success of the experiment wasn't so much," the other went on to say, as he bent his head down quickly to scrutinize the contents of his opened shell.
"Oh!" gasped Steve, catching his breath.
"What's the matter?" asked Max, his own voice as steady and calm as ever.
"Looky here, will you, Max—ain't that a beaut, though?"
The excited Steve managed to pluck some small object out of the opened shell he held, though his fingers trembled like the quivering leaves of an aspen.
When he placed this in the palm of his hand it was seen to be a lovely little milk-white pearl, nearly half the size of a buckshot.
"That looks good to me," remarked Max. "Just as fine as the one we lost, eh, Steve?"
"You bet it is; and we'll make sure no thief lays hands on this beauty,
Max," replied the delighted finder of the new treasure.
"Now, suppose, just for luck, I took a notion to go you one better," chuckled Max.
"Hey! what d'ye mean?" exclaimed his chum. "Have you been shaking hands with Good Luck as well as me? Open up, and show what you've got." "Shut your eyes, and count five," laughed Max; "now look, and see what I found."
"My goodness gracious; why, it's half again as big as my find; a regular jim-dandy pearl, Max," cried Steve, trembling all over with, eager delight, as his enraptured eyes fell upon the object Max exposed.
"Yes, much larger, I admit," the other went on to say with due deliberation; "but not quite so perfect in form. Your pearl might prove to be the more valuable one when it came to selling them."
"Oh! just to think of it, Max, we've got two already," Steve remarked as he took both the prizes in his hand, and surveyed them with that wistful look in his eyes; for, as he had more than once admitted, pearls always had a peculiar fascination for him.
Max was watching his companion's face closely, trying to read the emotions that chased each other across Steve's features.
"Yes, and the chance is still open," he said, slowly.
"Meaning that we may find a lot more; is that it, Max?" Steve demanded.
"Who can say? It's a lottery all around. The next mussel might give us another prize. Then, again, perhaps we'll clean out the stream and never get any reward."
Max had a way of looking things squarely in the face. He seldom allowed his enthusiasm to get the better of his calm, deliberate judgment. And consequently he did not suffer the grievous disappointment that came so frequently to excitable Steve.
"Anyway, we ought to get quite a bunch of money for these two dandy gems," Steve remarked.
"I wouldn't be surprised at all," Max assented.
"What d'ye think they're worth, Max?"
"Well, now, that's where you get me. I'm as green as the next one when it comes to putting a value on pearls. Only an expert can tell that," the other quickly replied.
"Shucks! but you can give a guess, can't you?" persisted Steve, not to be wholly disappointed.
"It would have to be a wide one, then, Steve."
"All right; let's have it!" observed the other.
"Well, I don't doubt but what we'll be able to sell each of these pearls for a hundred apiece," Max asserted.
"Dollars, you mean, Max?"
"Sure thing. And perhaps they may bring us five or ten times as much. I'll have my father take them to the city, and consult an expert," Max went on.
"Wow! that's going some, now, I tell you!" cried the other, with delight pictured on his glowing face.
"Two hundred sure, first pop, and mebbe a thousand! Say, Max, it begins to look like our wildest dreams might come true, and we'll be able to carry out all those bully old plans we made."
"Yes," said Max, deliberately, "if we can only guard our new find better than we did the other."
"We must make sure to have one chum doing sentry duty all the time," remarked Steve, solemnly. "That's only good sound sense, I take it, Max."
"Guess you're right about that, my boy," asserted the other, with a peculiar little smile that, however, Steve failed to notice. "And, now, suppose we finish up the lot we've still got to open." "Right you are," declared Steve.
"But, first, please let me have those pearls. I'd hate to have them lost in this grass here. And I believe I can keep them safe in this red handkerchief of mine till we find a chance to stow 'em away in the haversack, after the boys examine our find."
"In the haversack!" echoed Steve. "Why, that's where we had the one that disappeared, box and all."
"Sure thing," Max asserted.
"But think of the risk—" Steve began.
"Oh, we've got to hide 'em somewhere, you know," laughed Max; "and they say lightning never strikes in the same place twice. Besides, you forget that we expect to post a sentry, so that your eyes, or mine, or those of Owen, Toby or Bandy-legs, will be on the bag all through the night. I'll take the pearls now, please."
Steve somehow seemed a little loth about letting the lovely little gems pass out of his possession.
As he handed them over, his chum plainly heard him give a sigh; and he caught him repeating the words:
"In the haversack, and we've got to look out."
Then both of the boys set to work.
The remaining shellfish were soon opened, and although the young pearl seekers searched eagerly, with hope tugging at their hearts, no new prize rewarded their efforts.
"The queerest thing of all," remarked Steve, after he had mastered his disappointment, "was in our finding the pair of beauties at the same time."
"Yes, and I believe my mussel was as thin and scrawny looking a fellow as the one you complained of," laughed Max.
"Forget that, please," remarked his chum, with a grimace. "And just to think, I came near throwing that consumptive looking one away as worthless. It's taught me a lesson, sure, Max."
"Yes, and one you'll never forget, eh, Steve?"
"I never will," declared the other, vehemently. "Whenever I think of this lucky strike I'm going to understand that you never can judge things, people also, by outside looks."
"Sometimes the finest gems come in the meanest of coverings, you mean, eh,
Steve?"
"Right-o. And now what'll we do?" asked the other.
"Carry the shells away, because in a few days we'd object to the rank odor so near our tent. Listen, Steve. Make a heap of the things, under some tree you can remember well. We can call that our shell pile, you know."
"See here, you've got a meaning back of all that, you know it," complained Steve.
Max laughed aloud.
"How smart we're getting, old chap," he remarked. "But between us I don't mind saying that I'm curious to see what will happen."
"That is, you mean to give some one a good chance to get away with all these mussel shells, if so be they feel inclined, eh, Max."
Max nodded his head in the affirmative.
"Meaning this man and boy who seem to be hiding out up here, just like they were afraid to be seen, and employing their time in raking in all the scattered shells left by the muskrats and 'coons—how about that, Max?" Steve continued, as he gathered the opened shells in an extra bag, preparatory to removing them.
"You hit the nail on the head when you say that, Steve. They seem to know the mother-of-pearl inside lining of the shells will bring in some money. And I reckon they're piling the shells up in some cave or secret place, meaning to get them down the river in a dugout canoe sooner or later."
"Well, they're welcome to all the shells we gather," remarked Steve, with a shake of the head; "but they'd better not try to steal any more of our pearls, that's what"; and so saying he marched off with his load, leaving Max more sadly puzzled than ever.