Next day Joe Baldwin paid a visit to the neighbouring harbour, where a new part of the pier was being built by divers. His object was to sound our surly friend David Maxwell about joining him in his intended trip to the antipodes, for Maxwell was a first-rate diver, though a somewhat cross-grained man.
Maxwell was under water when he arrived. It was Baldwin’s duty to superintend part of the works. He therefore went down, and met his man at the bottom of the sea. Joe took a small school-slate with him, and a piece of pencil—for, the depth being not more than a couple of fathoms, it was possible to see to read and write there.
The spot where Maxwell wrought was at the extreme end of the unfinished part of the breakwater. He was busily engaged at the time in laying a large stone which hung suspended to a travelling-crane connected with the temporary works overhead. Joe refrained from interrupting him. Another man assisted him. In the diver fraternity, there are men who thoroughly understand all sorts of handicrafts—there are blacksmiths, carpenters, stone-masons, etcetera. Maxwell was a skilled mechanic, and could do his work as well under water as many a man does above it—perhaps better than some! The bed for the stone had been carefully prepared on a mass of solid masonry which had been already laid. By means of the signal-line Maxwell directed the men in charge of the crane to move it forward, backward, to the right or to the left, as required. At last it hung precisely over the required spot, and was lowered into its final resting-place.
Then Baldwin tapped Maxwell on the shoulder. The latter looked earnestly in at the window—if we may so call it—of his visitor, and, recognising Joe, shook hands with him. Joe pointed to a rock, and sat down. Maxwell sat down beside him, and then ensued the following conversation. Using the slate, Baldwin wrote in large printed letters:—
“I’ve got a splendid offer to go out to dive in the China seas. Are you game to go?”
Taking the slate and pencil, Maxwell wrote—“Game for anything!”
“We must finish this job first,” wrote Joe, “and I shall send Rooney out before us with some of the gear—to be ready.”
“All right,” was Maxwell’s laconic answer.
Baldwin nodded approval of this, but the nod was lost on his comrade owing to the fact that his helmet was immovably fixed to his shoulders. Maxwell evidently understood it, however, for he replied with a nod which was equally lost on his comrade. They then shook hands on it, and Joe, touching his signal-line four times, spurned the ground with a light fantastic toe, and shot to the realms above like a colossal cherub.