"Jest here or hereabouts," growled Ditty.
Drew stepped nearer and frankly listened to the conversation.
"Hi'm as 'ungry for blunt as the next bloke, an' ye sye there's plenty hin it——"
"Slathers of it, Bingo," said the mate earnestly. "Why, man! some of these islands down here are rotten with buried pirate gold. Millions and millions was stole and buried by them old boys."
"Yah! Hi've 'eard hall that before, Hi 'ave. Who hain't?" said Bingo, with considerable shrewdness. "Honly hit halways struck me that if them old buccaneers, as they calls 'em, was proper sailormen, they'd 'ave spent the hull blunt hinstead o' buryin' hof hit."
"Holy heavers, Bingo, they couldn't spend it all!" exclaimed Ditty. "There was too much of it. Millions, mind you!"
"Millions! My heye!" croaked the Cockney. "A million of yer Hamerican dollars or a million sterling?"
"You can lay to it," said Ditty firmly, "that there's more'n one million in English pounds buried in these here islands. And there's a bunch of it somewheres on this island."
"Then, Bug-eye, wye don't we git that map hand dig it hup hourselves on the bloomin' jump? Wye wite? We kin easy 'andle the hafter-guard."
"The boys are balkin', that's why," growled Ditty. "They're like you—afraid of that rotten old volcano."