"Righto, my girl, but we must start with the proper ceremony, as befits this momentous occasion."
The skipper's voice boomed from his chest in a mock-forensic base, as he handed Ben a shovel.
"When the railroad is finished, the President drives the gold spike, and the Governor always unveils the town statue. Ben, you're the chief Bey or Pshaw of this island—so you strike first."
"No, the Captain's daughter always christens the ship. Let Sally try, for good luck."
So the mariners gathered round, and the small black slipper rested on the iron rim of the implement, when she glanced at Spanish Dick, who was rolling his eyes and crossing himself while he muttered incoherently.
"Whatever are you doing now, Spanish Dick?"
"Do not deeg, Señorita. It ees bad luck. The gold ees stain with red. That means someone die a bad death."
For once the girl lost her patience and upbraided him unjustly.
"For Heaven's sake, stop! You're nothing but a kill-joy, Spanish Dick."
The small foot drove the iron in viciously, and several inches deeper than one would have expected from the size of the slipper. Over her shoulder she tossed the sand and coral dust, showering the recalcitrant gypsy who, feeling very aggrieved, retired to a hillock in the shade, muttering to his small buff-coloured companion, the only one in all the world, he complained, that understood him.
Then they began in real earnest, Ben and the bosun, Jack
