Away through the diamond-clear water, thirty feet down, they could see the slack of the anchor chain like a conger on the coral and sponge.
A nurse shark passed like a grisly ghost, then a shoal of sardines, then a young whip ray not bigger than a soup plate, then a mangrove schnapper that nosed the bait, swallowed it, and was hauled on board.
“He’ll be enough,” said Jude. “You clean him while I get the frying pan ready. Hullo! blest if Cark’s not putting off a boat!”
A boat had been dropped on the starboard side of the Juan and was rounding her stern.
“That’s Sellers,” said Jude, shading her eyes. “Satan! Below there!”
“Hullo!”
“Sellers is coming off.”
“I’ll be up in a minute.”
The boat came alongside, just as it had come at Palm Island,—same boat, same crew, Sellers just the same.
“Hullo, Kid!” cried Sellers.