“No, I don’t, but I expect I will some time; anyhow, one fool exception doesn’t count. What I’m getting at is this, chaps like you and Hank get it in your heads that the bigger a man’s pile is, the more he enjoys himself. It’s the other way about, seems to me; also that the rich man lives in a world of his own with laws of his own—”
“So he does,” said the other. “Now you listen to me. When Prohibition started, how did the poor man stand? Dry, that’s how he stood, looking at the other people with their cellars full of drink. They knew the law was coming and they laid in.”
“That’s true,” said George.
“It is,” said Candon, “and some day, maybe, I’ll tell you a yarn about how it hit me once.”
Hank came on deck and stood with eyes shaded, looking at the ghost of Santa Catalina on the sky line. “There she is,” said Hank. “You can almost see the flags waving and hear the bands playing. Bud, didn’t you ever go fishing down that way? I reckon it was that place gave Vanderdecken his first pull towards thievery, seeing the water is thick with Bank Presidents and Wheat Cornerers only waiting to be collected for ransom. Say, B. C., if you know anything about old Vanderdecken, tell us why he didn’t hold the folks he caught to ransom as well as picking the diamonds and money off them. That’s what I’d have done. I would sure. Hullo!”
A leaping tuna, as long as a man and curved like a sword, left the sea on the starboard bow, showed its colours to the sun, and vanished with a splash.
“Tuna,” said Candon.
“Well, what’s he doing here?” asked Hank, “he’s out of his waters, this ain’t the tuna grounds.”
“How do you know?” asked George.
“Lord, oughtn’t I to know,” replied Hank. “Why I was on the fish commission ship on this section of the Pacific Coast, sounding and dredging and taking specimens of the fish and the weeds and Lord knows what all. That was five years ago, but I reckon the tuna grounds haven’t altered since then.”