“Oh, no,” Tom assured him. “The operator says all those naval vessels can send for several hundred miles and the weather’s been fine—no static to speak of. We were talking to a Porto Rico liner this morning.”
“I hope you haven’t given away any information in your enthusiasm over radio,” remarked his father. “Remember we don’t want any one—not even ‘Sparks’—to have the least inkling of our purpose or plans Always bear in mind the famous Spanish proverb that ‘a secret between two is God’s secret but a secret between three is everybody’s.’”
“You needn’t worry about us, Dad,” Tom assured him, “we haven’t breathed a word—not even about our under-sea radio, although we were just wild to tell about it. You know our motto is ‘see everything, hear everything and say nothing.’”
“Stick to that and you’ll be a credit to the Service,” laughed his father as he and Mr. Henderson moved away.
Tom and Frank soon forgot all about radio or the chances of the swift destroyers overtaking the schooner in the many interesting sights about: the long-tailed graceful tropical birds whose snowy breasts appeared a delicate sea-green from the sunlight reflected through the clear water by the white sandy bottom of the sea; the bigger Booby gannets that kept pace with the ship, seeming to float without effort just above the rails, and that kept turning their china-blue eyes with a curious stare upon the boys; the big, clumsy pelicans that, in single file, flapped along a few inches above the sea, rising and falling in unison with the waves and now and again plunging suddenly with a tremendous splash into the water as their sharp eyes spied schools of small fish. All these were new and strange to the boys and once they caught a glimpse of a V-shaped line of twinkling red dots against the blue sky which one of the officers assured them was a flock of flamingoes.
“Gosh!” exclaimed Tom suddenly. “Say, just look there, Frank! See, down there between the waves—I’m dead sure I saw the bottom!”
The officer chuckled. “Of course you did!” he assured Tom. “Why not? You can see bottom at ten fathoms down here anywheres. Water’s as clear as glass. Why, when you get to Nassau you can look down and see the sea-fans and corals and marine growths perfectly plainly—sea-gardens the Conchs call ’em—regular places for tourists to go. And you can sit on the dock and fish and watch the fool fishes nibbling at your bait—red and blue and yellow and every color of the rainbow. Then, when you see one that suits your fancy you can just yank him up—great thing this being able to pick your fish!”
The boys looked at him half suspiciously. “Say,” exclaimed Frank, “are you trying to kid us?”
“Not a bit of it,” replied the purser. “Just wait and see. Why, if I told you half the truth about such things you’d swear I was lying.”
“Golly!” ejaculated Tom. “Wouldn’t it be fine to go down in a diving suit in such water. I don’t wonder that R—” Tom checked himself just in time and asked, “But what do you mean by saying the ‘Conchs’ call the places sea gardens?”