Bert Wilson, Wireless Operator

by J. W. Duffield

“Say, a man would have to have some nerve to wait calmly while one of those cute, harmless little animals came prancing up playfully to be petted,” Tom broke in. “I’d rather be excused.”

“It does take an immense amount of courage to brave a shark, but I shouldn’t wonder if there were thousands of people in the world who are at this moment making greater sacrifices, performing deeds that call for more real fortitude and courage than these shark hunters ever dreamed of. Only, you see we don’t know of those cases. However, that’s neither here nor there. Well, to get back to my story, when the shark nears the man he turns on his back to grab him. Then comes the crucial moment. Before the shark has a chance to accomplish his purpose, the native deftly buries the dagger up to the hilt in the shark’s throat.”

“Yes, but suppose the shark nabbed the hunter before he had a chance to use his weapon,” Ralph suggested.

“It is very probable in that case that the hunter would hunt no more sharks,” the Doctor laughed. “However, that very rarely happens these days, for the Hawaiians are trained to hunt as soon as they leave the cradle, and are experts at the age of nine or ten.”

“I wouldn’t mind trying it myself,” Bert declared, for, to him danger and excitement were the very breath of life, “only I’d like to practice up for a few years before I hung out my sign.”

“Well, they went on killing the sharks by means of a dagger for some time,” the Doctor went on, “but one day some bright young native discovered what seemed to him to be a much more interesting and, at the same time, just as sure a way of killing the shark. So one day he called all his relatives and friends together and told them to watch his new method. They all noticed that, instead of the usual dagger, this youth carried in his hand a pointed stick. ‘What good will a sharp stick do?’ they all asked one another. ‘He surely cannot mean to kill the shark with such a weapon,’ and they tried to persuade him not to try anything so foolish. However, he was not to be persuaded, so he started out with his stick to fight the shark. He had not gone very far before his eagerly watching friends on the shore saw a fin rise above the water and knew that the shark was near. With breathless interest they watched the coming conflict. Nearer and nearer came the shark until it was only a very few yards from the daring hunter. Then in a flash it was on its back and bearing down on its prey. With the speed of lightning our hero reached down the shark’s throat and wedged the pointed stick right across it so that the shark couldn’t close his wicked, gaping mouth. Of course, not being able to shut his mouth he drowned there in his native element. There is an instance of the irony of fate, isn’t it?”

“It surely is,” Dick answered. “But, Doctor, is that really so or is it only a story?”

“It’s the truth. The shark hunters use both methods, the dagger and the sharp stick, but the stick is the favorite.”

So the morning was passed in interesting tale and pleasant conversation, and they were all amazed when the Doctor informed them that it was half-past twelve. Soon afterward they came to a cozy little inn with the sign “Welcome” over the door painted in great gold letters on a black background. At this hospitable place they stopped for lunch.

When this most important function of the day was satisfactorily accomplished, they went for a stroll on the beach, as they had about half an hour to look around them before it was necessary to start on their way once more.