As a matter of fact, I didn't like the idea of trying to get hold of a diver in Antonio. There were not enough divers to go down to find the bottoms of the rum bottles ashore, let alone a ship's bilge. It's true, a man might do the thing naked in that clear water. I've seen men in the East copper a ship twice as deep with nothing on them but a hammer and a mouthful of nails.
After a day's search I gave it up. Not a man knew anything about submarine work, and at the hotel they laughed at me when I inquired for a diver. I also noticed that Miss Lucy Docking looked well sitting upon the veranda of the joint, togged out as she was in white linen. She gave me a nod, but wasn't keen on talking when I tried to find out if she had made arrangements for lady passengers that voyage.
"There's two on the books—that's all," she said, and gazed placidly out over the tops of the cocoa-nuts growing upon the beach below.
"Your advice last Friday helped me a lot," I said, "and I appreciate it and would——"
"Would you like some more?" she interrupted suddenly.
"Anything you might suggest," I said.
"Beat it back to the ship, then," she answered without a smile.
"Sure—if that's your advice," I snarled; "the hot weather has evidently soured your——"
"Cut it out—I'm not a guest here, and what do you think the agents would say if they saw the chief officer of their 'crack' liner talking to their stewardess sitting on the hotel piazza? I thought you had more sense."