The speaker, a sturdy, manly-looking boy of eighteen, was one of a party of four persons who were strolling along a street in the Greek section of Tarpon Springs, a small Florida town, located on the Anclote River, a few miles from the Gulf of Mexico. His companions were a boy about his own age but of less robust appearance, a little negro lad with a good-humored intelligent face, and a middle-aged, heavily-bearded, blue-eyed man whose tattooed arms and rolling gait told of a life spent on tossing seas and whose confident bearing and air of authority stamped him as one above the rank of a common sailor.
Those who have followed The Boy Chums through their many adventures will recognize in the little party their old friends Charley West, Walter Hazard, Captain Westfield and the Bahama lad, Chris, who lately returned from a perilous trip along the Atlantic beach searching for wreckage, and now seeking some promising venture in which to invest the Fifteen Hundred Dollars they earned on that voyage.
"You're right, Charley," agreed the other boy. "I didn't know before that there was a sight like this in Florida. Here's a bench. Let's set down and rest a bit. I am tired from walking."
"Golly, I reckon dis nigger's tired some too," chimed in the little darkey, "I'se dun had de toothache in mah legs for most an hour, but I'se had to keep up wid you-alls. Don't dare let you white chillen prognostracate 'round a queer place like dis alone."
The seat selected was a long bench standing on the edge of the sidewalk, its back to the sandy street. The four seated themselves at one end and gazed around with eager interest at the strange scene, unconscious of the curious glances bestowed upon them by a large, deeply-tanned man, who, seated on the other end of the bench, was languidly whittling on a piece of white pine with a large sheaf knife.
The scene was one to arouse more than passing interest. Up and down the sidewalk hurried swarthy-faced, powerfully-built men of all ages and appearances, but all possessed of the same clear-cut features and straight noses. Singly and in groups of two and three, they hurried past, picturesque in their bright-colored clothing with gaudy sashes knotted about their waists. About all clustered an air of energy and bustle uncommon to sleepy Florida towns.
Built up close to the inner edge of the sidewalk was a row of large buildings startling in their coats of bright yellow, red, blue, and green paint. Stretching away, close together in the distance, they gave one the impression of a gigantic rainbow. Through their wide-open doors and windows the interested onlookers could gain a plain view of the interiors, from which came the confused jangle of foreign tongues. To the right of where the little party sat was a busy grocery store, its windows filled with strings of dried garlic, strange-looking cheeses, queer nuts and fruits and a multitude of eatables strange to American eyes. To the left of them was a tobacco factory, the whirling machines shredding up the huge brown leaves into hair-like fibers and binding them up into pound packages. Directly before them was a great hall filled with little tables around which were seated groups of the regular-featured men, playing cards, eating, or puffing at strange pipes, with a small hose for a stem, the smoke passing through great glass vessels partly filled with rose water before it reached the smoker's lips.
"That's the fifteenth place of that kind I've counted to-day," remarked Charley West. "From their numbers, one would imagine that these people did nothing but eat and play cards."
"I'd like to try one of them pipes," said Captain Westfield, wistfully. "I'll bet they give a good, cool smoke."
"Let's go in and get dinner," Walter suggested. "I am hungry as a wolf and that food smells mighty good. You can try a pipe after we eat, Captain."