"Hank," said he, arousing himself by an effort, "whereabouts in the world is Cape Town?"
"It is a long way from here—as much as three or four thousand miles, probably."
"Oh, pshaw! Then that old Gibbons has been fooling me," he added mentally. Then aloud he said: "Then Bob will have plenty of time to fall overboard before he reaches there."
"Why, of course he will. But Bob isn't the kind to fall overboard. He's coming back as sure as you live."
"That's neither here nor there. Mebbe he'll come back, and mebbe he won't," said Joe to himself. "But there is one thing about it: Houston isn't going to get half the pearls I make. Where is that stream you found the pearls on, Hank?"
"It is up the country a piece, and I am going to keep it to myself."
Joe went on with his smoking, but to himself he added:
"I'll bet that about the time you get there looking for more pearls I will be close at your heels. You needn't think that because you have money I am going to have none. So Bob hasn't got to Cape Town yet. Then I can rest easy on what money I have got."
Joe didn't go to bed at all that night, but lay on the lounge, as he had done the night before. Hank was up before the sun, but this time he didn't have anything to say to his father about being sick. He ate his breakfast without saying much, and then put off, nobody knew where, and Hank was left to talk to his mother.
"Now, you have got to begin your washing again," said he. "That's what worries me."