The Pirate Shark Part 2

"Yes?" inquired Bob. "You wanted someone here?"

"Why, I was looking for the cap'n," said the old man. His voice was soft, but carried far. "My name's Smith, Jerry Smith, quartermaster."

"Oh, you're the Jerry Smith that's to sail with us!" Bob spoke in no little astonishment, for the old man looked anything but a tarry sailor.

"Why, dad's gone uptown for the afternoon, Mr. Smith. I'm Bob Hollinger, and this is Mart Judson, who goes with us."

"Pleased, gentlemen," and the other jerked his head slightly, gazing around with mild interest. "That's a sight o' hardware, here in the main cabin. My stars! Is the cap'n going to shoot all those weapons, young sir?"

"Well, he hopes to," grinned Mart easily, shoving back the mop of black hair from his brow. "Going to take moving pictures, too. I'm the wireless operator."

"Eh?" Jerry Smith looked astonished. "Why, young sir, that is surprising! I did not know we--we were going to have a wireless operator!" His watery eyes blinked a little, and his soft voice dropped to a deeper tone. "Well, well! And I was just about your age, I imagine, when I first put to sea!"

Mart hoped for a moment that the old man was going to spin a yarn, but instead he only heaved a sigh and mopped at his nose with a huge bandanna.

"Well," he said to Bob, "I'm sorry to miss your father, young sir. And would you please to tell him that the crew'll come aboard to-morrow night, and that I'll be aboard afore then with the papers? I'll have to sign on as quartermaster, you know, and the cap'n--"

"Eh?" Bob struck in with a frown. "Why, you're going as a guest, Mr.

Smith! Dad doesn't want you to sign on at all."

"Just Jerry, if you please!" the old man smiled quietly. "Jerry is my handle, young sirs, just Jerry. About signing on, now. I've never put to sea yet, young sirs, but what I've been entered shipshape and Bristol fashion, and I'm not going to start wrong at this time o' life. I want to be on the ship's articles as quartermaster, that's all--that's all. I got my discharges all proper, and if we should lose an officer, I've got a first officer's ticket. I don't want any wages, young sirs, but I want to be signed on all shipshape. It'll make me feel a sight better. You'll tell the cap'n that?"

"Why, sure!" returned Bob heartily. "And I'm glad to meet you, Jerry.

You'd better keep in mind that I'm Bob, or Holly--either one hits the right spot--and I don't like that 'young sir' business."

"Nor me," put in the gray-eyed boy, stepping forward with his hand out.

"I'm plain Mart, without any Mister either, Jerry, and I'm glad to meet up with you."

The three shook hands. Mart noted that old Jerry had a very strong chin and a tight-lipped mouth, for all his gentle appearance, and his hands were very gnarled and knotted. His dress was old and weatherstained, but had nothing of the sailor in it. Mart had seen enough of sailors along the waterfront, however, to know that clothes do not count in such cases.

With a final duck of his head, Jerry Smith turned and shuffled away.

"Well, what d'you think o' that!" Bob stared at his chum as the stoop-shouldered figure vanished up the companion. "Pirate! Say, do you reckon he ever saw a pirate ship? I guess dad has things twisted about him, eh?"

"I'm not so sure," returned Mart slowly, thinking of that firm chin and knotted hand. "I'm not so sure, Holly. You can't go by what you read in books, always. Sure, I know he's a nice old fellow, but he's a queer fish just the same. And as for bein' a pirate, there's that man Morris, who's workin' on the _Tribune_ now as city editor. He's as quiet and nice as you ever see 'em, but they say he's been all kinds of things.

That shows you, Holly, that you can't go by looks."

"Anyhow, I guess he's reformed by now," stated Bob decisively. "And pirating is out of date these days. He's only an interesting character, as the books say."

"He sure is," agreed Mart promptly. "Say, Holly, we're going to have a whopper of a time in the next month or so, ain't we?"

Bob grinned happily. "You're dead right, old boy! Say, it's noon--"

"By golly, that's right! When do we eat? I'm some empty."

"Right now. Ah Sing has the grub ready, I guess. Hike along, you pirate!"

And Mart hiked with a wide grin.

CHAPTER III

OFF FOR TRINGANU

It was Sunday afternoon. Joe Swanson and the second mate, "Liverpool"

Peters, had departed that morning to enjoy their last few hours on sh.o.r.e. Captain Hollinger, Mart, and Bob were alone on board, save for the steward, and the three were sitting around a big pitcher of lemonade under the after-deck awnings. The financier-yachtsman was enthusiastically outlining his plans for sport during his trip.

"We're going to have a great time, boys," he exclaimed heartily, "I've got everything on board you can think of, from tackle for sharks to dynamite."

"Huh? Dynamite?" asked Mart quickly. "What's that for, Cap'n?"

"I don't know," returned the captain coolly. The two boys stared.

"What--you don't know?" asked Bob in surprise. His father laughed.

"No. I put it aboard at the suggestion of old Jerry Smith. He said we might have need for it during the diving operations, and I simply took his advice. He's pretty well posted on everything out in that section of the world, and promises me some exciting sport shooting tigers."

"I thought tigers were found only in India," put in Mart, puzzled.

"That's where they usually shoot 'em, isn't it?"

"No," said the captain, leaning back and lighting his cigar. "No, Mart, you're off there. You'll find tigers all through the Malay States and up into China proper--I believe they've even been found in parts of j.a.pan.

We're going to have some great shooting, boys! And while I'm off with you in the jungle, or hills--for I'm not sure which we'll find--old Jerry can be managing the diving and dredging operations at the other end without bothering me till the work's ready for inspection."

"What's Jerry gettin' out o' this?" queried Mart thoughtfully.

"Oh, I'm to allow him one-third of the stock. Our consul at Singapore is already getting us the concession, and Jerry has letters from the Sultan of Tringanu to all the native chiefs."

"What're they like, dad?" Bob sat up. "The letters, I mean."

"They're written in Arabic," laughed his father. "There are a good many Arabs out in that part of the world, and I suppose Arabic is the usual written language; or rather, the Malays use the Arabic characters.

They're all Mohammedans, anyway."

"Can't we take a squint at those diving outfits?" Mart looked out at the sparkling waters of the bay, and sighed. "Oh, I'd give 'most anything to go down and really get underneath the ocean! Where are the outfits, Cap'n?"

"Boxed up in the hold, Judson. There's no chance of our using them till after we get to Tringanu. Swanson knows a good deal about diving, and Jerry Smith promised to pick up a couple of men who were used to it, so we'll be all right there."

"Oh!" Mart suddenly sat up and squared around in his seat. "Am I under Swanson's orders, Cap'n?"

"Nominally, yes, as a member of the crew. But in actual fact, no. Why?"

The boy's face was troubled, and he hesitated an instant.

"Nothing much," he said at last, his gray eyes suddenly hard and cold.

"Only, I had an argument with Swanson Friday, and by somethin' he said yesterday I wondered if I was under him."

"I guess not!" cried Bob indignantly. "You're an officer, and you're under no one but the captain--who is dad."