“Gold?” Johnny ejaculated. “I don’t understand.”
The tale the old man told, then, out there on the racing sea, was fantastic indeed. Yet Johnny doubted never a word of it....
The islands now belonging to Samatan’s native people once had been a French colony. The French had made slaves of the natives, and had brought in many more slaves. Then the slaves revolted and drove all the Frenchmen from the islands.
“After that—our land!” Samatan declared proudly. “Long time republic. Long time everybody happy. Then,” his voice dropped, “how you say it—came bad man. Very hard man. Very cruel. Make people work too hard. Want gold. All gold. By and by want kill that man, my people.
“This bad man see strange men come—many men.” Samatan continued. “They put gold in chest—much gold—and dump in sea.
“Now,” Samatan sighed, “bad man dead. Gold lost. Never find that gold, my people. Belong my people—that gold! Find gold—my people pay debts. Very happy. But now,” he frowned, “Professor, he hunt gold with steel ball. Wanna keep that gold, you think, that professor?”
“Oh, no! No!” Johnny laughed. “The professor is not looking for treasure! Only strange fishes, all sorts of odd creatures that live beneath the sea.”
“Not wanna find gold?” The old man was plainly puzzled.
“Oh, sure—I s’pose he’d like to find it,” Johnny laughed. “And—we’ll really try to—now that we know about it. But if we do find it, you may be sure it will all be for your people—to the last doubloon!”
“Good boy, Johnny.” The old man smiled broadly. “Good man, Professor. All good. Everybody!”