“Are you sure?” said Blood.
“Sure—why, I’ve a workin’ knowledge of guano. Sure—o’ course I’m sure! Come ashore with me, and I’ll show you.”
They went ashore, and before sunset Harman had demonstrated that even on this side, where the deposit was thinnest, the store was vast.
“Think of the size of the place,” said he, “and remember from this to the other side it gets thicker. Fifty years won’t empty it.”
The sea gulls of a thousand years had presented them with a fortune beyond estimation, and Blood for the first time in his life saw himself a rich man—honestly rich.
Their joy was so great that the first thing they did on returning to the Heart was to fling the whisky bottle into the lagoon.
“We don’t want any more of that hell stuff ever,” said Blood. “I want to enjoy life, and that spoils everything.”
“I’m with you,” said Harman, “not to say I’m goin’ to turn teetotal, for I’ve took notice that them mugs gets so full of themselves they haven’t cargo room for nuthin’ else. But I don’t want no more drunks—not me.”
During the next fortnight, with the help of the wheelbarrows and agricultural implements, they took in a cargo of guano. Then they sailed for Frisco.