“There you’ve hit the solution of the enigmy, as the schoolmaster said,” replied Bob, bringing his clenched fist down upon my knee with an emphasis which impressed me for the remainder of the evening: “How much of that gold now do you reckon would make your fortune, lad? you’re pretty good at figures; just cipher it up and let’s hear?”
“How much!” exclaimed I; “oh, a very small portion of the whole cargo would satisfy me if I had it here at this moment.”
“How much?” persisted Bob. “Would a ton of it be enough for you, boy?”
“Yes, indeed,” laughed I; “a ton of pure gold—why, what do you suppose that would be worth, Bob?”
“Hain’t much of a idee,” replied he.
“A ton of pure gold,” said I, “is worth over one hundred thousand pounds, Bob; I believe one hundred and twenty-five thousand pounds is nearer it’s value; though I cannot say for certain.”
“Then,” said Bob, “if we can manage to get, say, a couple of tons of it home, you will be satisfied—eh?”
“Perfectly,” I replied; “but how do you propose to accomplish this?” for I saw he had a scheme to bring forward.
“Nothing easier,” replied Bob. “Build a little craft big enough to accommodate the two of us; with room to stow away our grub and water, and the two tons of gold; and up anchor and away.”
“But,” said I, “you forget that this island is somewhere in the Pacific. Such a craft as you speak of would be totally unfit for the voyage we contemplate.”