As soon as they got back into town, Mr. Driver hunted up the man of whom he had spoken, and, introducing him to each of the little party, hurried back to his store.
Mr. Williams was a young man still in his twenties. He was a stocky, well-built young fellow with an intelligent face, determined manner, and a short, crisp way of speaking. He sized up the little party with one quick appraising glance as Captain Westfield stated their errand.
"If you are not willing to stand hardships, dirt, discomfort, and danger, you want nothing to do with sponging," he declared.
"We can stand anything that it pays us to stand," Charley replied, quickly.
"Well, that's the right kind of spirit," approved the young man, "but, of course you don't any of you realize what you will have to meet. I've seen others start in with the same confidence and get cold feet before the first trip was over. It isn't any nice, ladies' pink-tea business. It's a game for real men, but if the men are the right kind, they get their reward for what they endure, all right, all right. I landed here with an empty pocket and emptier stomach, and now,—well, I am not a John D. Rockefeller yet, but I've got enough laid by to keep the wolf from the door for a good many years. Better men than I have done better than I have. It's like everything else, the best man wins, and wins something worth winning, but, as I have said, it's no business for nice, tender, little Willie boys, it's a man's game."
Charley grinned in sympathy with the reliant, independent spirit of the young fellow which was close kin to his own traits. "We left off our short pants last summer," he observed, gravely, "we are fast learning to dress ourselves, and the Captain there can even comb his own hair."
"Good," chuckled the other, "I guess you will pass muster anyway, so I will give you some idea of what you will have to expect. First, there is the loneliness. For three months at a time you'll be at sea without another soul to talk to, for there are very few of the Greeks who speak English. With a party like yours it would not be so bad for you would be company for each other, but for the American captains who go out alone with a crew of Greeks, it's awful. I've known some to go crazy for sheer loneliness, and few ever make a second trip,—I'll never forget my first experience. Second, sponging is a dirty business, the stench from dying sponges will upset any but the strongest stomachs. Third, there are the dangers, storms, accidents, and troubles with the crew. I have never had any serious trouble with my own men, but then I understand their lingo and that counts for a good deal, and, besides they all know me around here and know that I will shoot first and explain afterwards—that counts for still more."
"All that is interesting, but it ain't to the pint," said Captain Westfield. "The question is what can one make off a trip. I reckon them little things you're telling about is just details."
"I'm afraid you'll find them pretty serious details," Mr. Williams said with a laugh, "but you are right, the money point is the main thing. That's the only thing that has kept me in the business. Well, I had considerable bad luck last trip but I cleaned up three thousand dollars. I've been doing better than that."
The chums looked at each other with expressive faces while Mr. Williams' keen black eyes twinkled as he watched them.