“What was she carrying for treasure?”
“Over three million dollars’ worth of gold in ingots in her strong-room abaft second bulkhead, between pantry and boiler-room.”
“Was the treasure ever recovered?”
“Wreck was abandoned to underwriters, and after underwriters had worked for a long time, keeping very mysterious, they reported that they had got the ingots all out of her. Then they came away. Everybody believed that the underwriters had cleaned out the wreck, just as they reported they had. But I was in that wrecking crew. I kept my eye out. It was a bluff about getting that treasure.” The old man began to show excitement. “Their divers couldn’t get at it. They didn’t have nerve, and they didn’t have the right outfits in those days. The underwriters didn’t want it shown that they hadn’t pulled up the stuff. They knew that every Tom, Dick, and Harry would go down there, peeking and poking around that wreck, and that some fellow might think up a way to call the turn.
“So they bribed the divers, and the divers brought up fake boxes of gold, and the report was made that all the treasure had been taken from the Golden Gate wreck. But it’s all there, gents. The underwriters haven’t been able yet to think of a sensible way of getting at it. They don’t want to make another splurge and attract attention till they’re sure of what they’re doing. Them’s facts what I’m telling. I know. I haven’t done much of anything but keep tabs. I don’t care if they do call me Ingot Ike. I know what I’m talking about. The trouble down there has been that the old Pacific has rolled on and rolled in and piled up sand over that treasure, and they didn’t know how to handle the proposition in those days.”
“The idea is, Brother Sidney,” broke in Keedy, “firsthand evidence informs us that three or four millions are cached in a place we know of. Now, because man has failed once, years ago, when man wasn’t as bright as he is now, is that any sign that man shall give up? Captain Holstrom and I say, ‘No.’ We’re partners. We have been talking over this proposition for a long time. Now, up to date, are you in any way interested?”
I was, and I said so.
“There they lie,” said Keedy, “bars of yellow gold. Boxes and boxes of shiny gold. More than three million dollars’ worth of finest gold—and only a little water and sand over ’em. No bars to break through, no vaults to drill. Only sand and water—and we ought to be able to match that sand with grit, and the water with good red blood.”
There are some men who can talk about money, and it will not start a thrill in you.
Marcena Keedy could talk about gold in a way to make your soul hungry. He rolled the sound in his mouth—a big, round, juicy sound—as a boy sucks a candy marble. It made the moisture ooze in my own mouth to hear him talk.