The man at the end of the bench shifted his position closer to them.
"Strangers here?" he enquired.
"Just came in this morning. We're looking into the sponge business a bit," replied the Captain.
Charley eyed the tanned man closely. There was a sinister expression to the fellow's face, and his eyes shifted uneasily away from the lad's level glance. The keen-witted boy was not favorably impressed with the stranger's appearance, but the man's cordiality drove away his faint feeling of distrust.
"I'll go in with you then," he offered. "Those fellows don't speak much English and you would have a hard job making them understand what you wanted. I know a little Greek and may be able to help you out a bit."
"Much obliged to you," said the Captain, gratefully. "We don't understand a word of their lingo. I'll stand treat to the dinner if you'll eat with us."
"It's a go," agreed the stranger, quickly. "Come on. My name's Robert, Captain Roberts," he volunteered when the little party were seated around one of the tables, "I'm a retired ship's master."
Captain Westfield introduced himself and his companions. "As I said, we are lookin' into this sponge business a bit, but it's hard to pick out the proper course from these twisted-tongued furriners," he said. "Do you happen to know anything about it?"
"I used to be in the business myself," Captain Roberts replied promptly. "I made enough money in it to quit the sea for good."
"Then I reckon you're the very man to give us a few pointers. Is there as much money in it as one hears tell of?"