“Poor man,” said Marjorie, in a whisper, “how unhappy he looks; perhaps he has lost something.”
The man glanced up nervously as the children approached, and, clutching at his bag jealously, he demanded—
“Who are you? What do you want?”
“Nothing, thank you, poor old man,” began Marjorie; “we were only——”
The old man burst into a peal of hoarse laughter.
“Poor old man!” he exclaimed. “Do you know that I am the richest man in the world. Look!” he exclaimed, opening his bag before the children’s astonished eyes. “Gold! jewels! riches! wealth! they are all mine—ha—ha—ha—ha!” and he laughed discordantly, and hugged the bag closely to himself again.
“Oh, come away!” cried Marjorie, catching at Dick’s arm. “I’m so frightened.”
“I’m the Old Man of the Sea,” continued the man, “and all the treasures of the deep are mine. I have stacks of golden crowns and jewels without number, and each day I gather more—they are all mine—mine—mine!”
“But where do they all come from?” asked Dick.
“The bottom of the sea is strewn with riches,” continued the old man, “and there is no one to reap the harvest but myself.”