“Just yonder, sir, past that lot of blocks like an old stone yard; I see one o’ their heads peeping over, and they’ve got a fire, cooking something, I should say, for—phew! they can’t want it to warm themselves, for it’s hot enough without.”
They looked in the direction pointed out, and there, plainly enough, was the light, fine, corkscrew-like wreath of a pale blue smoke, rising slowly up beyond quite a wilderness of coral rock, swept there by the earthquake wave.
Chapter Six.
Hot Springs.
“Tommy Smith, old matey,” whispered Wriggs, “why warn’t you and me born different?”
“That ’ere’s a question for your godfathers and godmothers, Billy, as stood sponsors for you when you was born. But what d’yer mean?”
“Why, so as to be like these here gents and have plenty o’ money to spend in tools o’ all kinds.”
“Ay, ’twould ha’ been nicer, I dessay, matey.”