Two days were spent trying to make the sales of the cargo, but the dealers insisted on testing the powder from each and every case before paying, or taking it on, so there was a delay of at least two weeks staring them in the face. The crew having enough to eat minded the waiting not the least. The mate cared nothing as long as the ultimate end was in sight, for he had enough hog and hominy aboard to last twice as long.
The sloop lay off the docks in a scant seven feet of water, her keel just grazing the coral bottom, which was as plainly visible beneath her as though she were surrounded by clear air instead of the clearer water of the bay. The huge, fashionable hotel loomed high against the background of palms and cocoanuts, making an impressive sight, and also a comfortable abode for the rich tourists who filled it during this end of the season. Prices were high, and Smart spent much time watching the idle rich wandering about the beautiful gardens.
Several gambling-joints were in full blast, for it was always the policy of the eminent Florida philanthropist who owned the tourist accommodations on the east coast to build a church upon one side of his dominions, and then a gambling-hell upon the other. Both were necessary to draw the lazy rich.
Smart noticed several of the sporting gentry wandering about, but, having nothing to gamble with, he was forced to look on with little interest.
On the third day of their stay in harbour, a man sauntered down to the dock close aboard, and stood gazing at the Sea-Horse. He was perfectly dressed in the height of fashion, and he swung a light cane lazily while he gazed at the wrecker. He wore a thin moustache, and his high, straight nose seemed to hook over it to an abnormal extent. His eyes were a very light blue, so pale that they appeared to be colourless, but he had an altogether well-fed, well-satisfied look; one of seeming benevolence and kindliness, which attracted Smart's attention. Smart and the mate of the Sea-Horse were sitting upon the cabin-house in the shade of a drying trysail, and the stranger spoke to them.
"Sloop for charter?" he asked abruptly, in a high voice, which carried over the short distance of water with some force.
"What fo'?" asked Bahama Bill, without moving.
"Oh, we want to fish and shoot. I don't care for the yachts for hire; their owners don't seem to know where to go to get sport. I'd rather charter from a man who knows something of the reef to the southward, and you look as if you belong around here."
"Yo' sho' got a bad guesser in yo' haid, Mister Yankee," said the mate. "What make yo' think we belongs around here?"
Smart studied the man carefully while he was talking. He was a close observer, but he failed to place this suave, well-groomed gentleman in his vocation. He might be a gambler, a sport, or just a rich fellow wanting amusement. The latter seemed most likely, so Smart spoke up, hoping to land a few dollars while waiting for his share of the salvage.