The purser laughed. “Oh, I forgot you’d never been down here,” he said. “Conchs is the local name for the Bahamans. Guess it’s because they’re always diving for conchs or maybe because they’re as much at home under water as on land. Greatest divers in the world; fact, I’ve seen ’em diving for sponge and coral many a time and when we get to Nassau this afternoon you’ll see about ten thousand naked nigger boys crowding about, begging you to toss pennies to ’em so they can dive and catch them. Little beggars can grab a coin long before it gets to the bottom and if you toss a penny off one side of the ship they’ll dive off the other, swim under the keel and get the coin before it reaches bottom. And speaking of diving—say, this is the real home and headquarters of that. Met a chap down here last winter—Rawlins is his name—was taking a lot of movies under water, fact. Had a new-fangled sort of suit that didn’t have ropes or hose or anything and just plumped overboard as easy as is and wandered around making friends with the fishes.”
The boys nudged each other and winked. “Oh, now you are kidding us!” said Tom. “How could a fellow go down without air and how could he take movies under the sea? That’s too big even for us to swallow.”
“Fact, just the same,” the other declared. “Had some sort of gadget fixed up on his suit to make air and he took the movies in a big steel room or chamber at the end of a jointed, water-tight pipe—had electric lights and everything in it. Sure thing and no fooling. Saw some of the pictures up in New York too. Yep, one of ’em was called ‘Drowned Gold’ or something of the sort—story of a treasure under the sea—gathered in by Huns in a submarine and cached in an old wreck. Rattling good picture too! Say, you boys want to see his place—got a regular studio here. I don’t think Rawlins is here though.”
“That would be interesting,” agreed Frank, “I’d love to go down in a diving suit and walk about on the bottom. Don’t the fish and things ever trouble him?”
“No,” responded the purser, “even sharks keep off—only danger’s in devil fish—octopus, you know. They grow mighty big hereabouts and are likely to grab anything. Rawlins was making one picture of a whopping big octopus fighting with a diver—fake devil fish made out of rubber, but natural as is. Don’t know how it turned out but I tell you I’m not keen on running foul of any of the real thing. And speaking of sharks—say, here’s a fact that you boys will think’s a whopper. Niggers down here dive in right among the sharks—carry a long knife in their teeth—and grab hold of a shark’s fin and knife him, fact!”
“Well, you can’t tell any yarn bigger than that!” laughed Frank. “Imagine a man tackling a shark under water! Oh come, you must think we’re easy!”
“Well, just wait and see,” replied the purser, “but I’ll have to be running along. There’s New Providence ahead—we’ll be getting into port within the next hour.”
“Gosh, he’s some talker!” exclaimed Tom with a laugh when the loquacious officer had left. “And wasn’t it rich—his telling us about Rawlins and the suits and never guessing we knew him or had been down in those suits ourselves! Say, I’m beginning to think there’s a lot of fun in being Secret Service people. It’s sport listening to folks telling all they know about a thing that you know more about and they never guessing it.”
“Yes,” agreed Frank, “and I can understand now how detectives and Secret Service men find out so much without any one suspecting them. They just start a conversation and then let the other fellows do the talking and pick up a lot of information. But that was rich about the sharks!”
“And the devil fish too!” added Tom. “Wonder if there is any danger from being attacked by an octopus. Say, if there is that’s where our undersea radio would come in mighty fine.”