“Star o’ Boston” likewise hoped that she and her lover might chance upon some bullion. “I’ll catch a torpedo fish,” said “Theodore H. Jackson,” “then we’ll burst open the ship’s safe and see.” But there was no bullion apparently. The vessel proved to be only a little coasting schooner called “Flying Fish.” She was laden with cocoanuts, and as the merman broke open the imprisoned bags, the nuts rushed up to the surface of the sea, like balloons. Then “Star o’ Boston” found a dead sailor with a big black beard, clasping a bottle. He had broken into the spirit locker as the ship went down, but had not found time to drown his death agony with alcohol, for the bottle was apparently unopened. “Old Tom Rum,” read out “Star o’ Boston.” “What’s that?” “A drink of the Upper People. We will carry it with us. It may perhaps serve to cheer the desolation of your parent.” “Theodore H. Jackson” drove off the great grey shark that glimmered sulkily at him out of wolfish eyes; then approached the dead sailor and wrenched the bottle from his grasp. “Now I come to think of it, I have heard ‘Lord Aberdeen’ speak of this same rum,” declared “Star o’ Boston.” “He told my father that once, long ago, he became possessed of a bottle and that it was like glorious fire in a merman’s veins.” “By Neptune! then this liquor may prove as valuable as bullion after all--in fact more so. Money won’t buy rum as a rule, excepting on dry land. He shall pay for this.” Clutching her treasure, “Star o’ Boston” swam back as fast as her fins would carry her. “I believe,” she said, “that it will be possible to make any bargain I like with him.” “Then don’t let it go too cheaply. Let him pay heavily for his luxuries. He wants you much; I only hope we may find he wants the rum more.” “There are plenty of mermaids, but only one bottle of rum that we know of. I swam all through the sunken ship and drove the fishes from the dead men, and a drowned woman with a baby in her arms. There is no rum left there. Air-breathers must love the liquid also, for they had all rushed to drink before their drowning. Only this one poor wretch had no time. Hence our happiness now.” “I will come with you, my green-eyes, for the rascal may prove too much for you.” So “Theodore H. Jackson” supported his love and together they entered the pink coral abode of “Lord Aberdeen.” That old scamp’s black eyes glittered strangely as he saw the mermaid, but when he observed what she carried with her, his excitement was terrific and burst all bounds. “Great Serpent! Rum, as I live!” he screamed. But for the paucity of opportunities his lordship had long since drunk himself to death. His spirit was willing, but alcohol proved too rare a thing. He remembered rum in the past; he was getting old; and he felt that the treasure displayed before him now was worth half his fortune.