“On the other hand,” said Tempest, who had been listening with curious interest, “if you see the camel, it is worth making a mighty careful search in that neighborhood for the treasure-ship.” “You bet your sweet life it is!” said Captain Grummitt. “If I was twenty years younger and didn’t have to spend my time dodging around Sydney Harbor looking for the price of the family’s victuals and rent, hang me if I wouldn’t put in a spell hunting for that old treasure-ship.” “Do you really think it might be worth while?” Tempest asked, his habitual manner of carelessness cast aside for the moment. “Well, if you put it up to me that way,” said the skipper, blowing rings of smoke between each few words, “it’s a hard question. You see, you can’t get away from the fact that there is, or there was, a bark called the _Hatteras_ there not very long ago, unless this old sailor invented it, and there’s no sensible reason for supposing he did that. Then again, if any one had ever found that treasure, the papers would have had a long yarn about it, and none of us ever heard of that happening. I could tell you a whole lot more of what I think about it if only I could get one peek at the wreck. Such a lot depends on what state she is in. Mebbe there’s nothing but her ribs left by now, in which case, good-by treasure. But if she’s pretty deep in the sand, and if she hasn’t broken in half, I don’t see why there shouldn’t be a fair chance of this stuff still being on board. You see, there’s a powerful difference between leaving it all these years in the main street of Sydney and leaving it stranded on a little island where nobody in their sane senses would think of poking their noses. There’s islands there that don’t have a human being on them once in a hundred years or more, and then, as likely as not, they might not happen to spot a half-buried wreck.” As he listened to Captain Grummitt, Dave began to see new interest in the lost _Hatteras_, and he would have liked to kick himself for not pumping his ancient mariner more. “I think some fine day we shall have to go treasure-hunting, Dave,” Tempest said with a quiet smile. “If ever we get the chance,” agreed Dave, cheerfully, as though a little trip to the neighborhood of Christmas Island was as simple as a jaunt on a trolley-car. “If ever you get the chance,” said Captain Grummitt, nodding his head with each word, “don’t you miss it! But how in thunder you’re to get the chance is more than I know, because there ain’t no ferry-boats running to Christmas Island this summer, nor any other summer, and you can take it from me the walking from here to there is pretty bad. Yes, sir. Pretty bad!” CHAPTER XII A BROKEN HAWSER