“What’s up, old boy?” shouted Phil when they came within calling distance. “Has a bee stung you or something?”
“Law, Marse Phil,” the negro answered straightening up and showing all his teeth in a broad grin. “They ain’t no sech a thing in dis part de world, not as Ah ever heered on. No sir, Marse Phil. Ah was jes’ gettin’ you’ breffust ready in a tearin’ hurry. The wind done gone an’ lef’ us an’ I knowed you’d be wantin’ get busy right soon. So Ah says to myself, Ah says, ‘Bimbo, you stir yo legs, Nigger, yo done better get a wiggle on. Marse Phil done got one busy day befo’ him.’ So, Marse Phil, I jes’ been followin’ mah own advice.”
By this time they had reached the cave and Phil gave the grinning black boy a resounding slap on the back.
“Good boy, Bimbo,” he laughed. “You’re getting better every day. I believe you know what we want before we want it ourselves.”
Bimbo beamed at this praise and his eyes followed Phil with the faithful devotion of a dog. It is safe to say that the black boy would have died without a murmur for this adored young master.
The boys were full of enthusiasm and they ate the tempting food that Bimbo set before them hurriedly, hardly knowing what they ate.
One thing was uppermost in their minds—the lure of the treasure hidden beneath the hatches of the sunken ship.
“I’d better take some dynamite with me this time,” said Phil, as he finished his last bite of breakfast and stood up, eager for action. “From the look I had at them the other day I don’t believe I’ll be able to lift the hatches by my own strength.”
“All right, let’s go,” said Dick, energetically. “The first thing is to get all our stuff down to the water. We’ll want to take some of the radio apparatus I suppose.”
“Sure thing,” said Steve. “We’ll need a couple of batteries anyway—enough to generate the spark that will set off the dynamite.”