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That night after supper, Clayton showed his pearls. A few of them. He had four tin cash-boxes, and he opened one and disclosed his treasures lying between layers of cotton-wool. You have seen chocolate creams in boxes—that was the sight that greeted the eyes of Harman and Davis, only the chocolate creams were pearls. Some were the size of marrowfat peas and some were the size of butter beans, very large, but not of very good shape, some were pure white, some gold and some rose.

“Don’t show us no more, or I guess we’ll be robbin’ you,” said Harman.

Next morning the pearl-man began his preparations for departure, the water-casks of the Douro were filled, chickens caught and cooped, a live pig embarked and the groves raided for nuts, bananas and bread-fruit.

“It’s well he’s leavin’ us the trees,” said Harman.

The diving suits were got out and Clayton showed them how they were used, also the trick of filling the net bag with oysters in the swiftest way and without tangling the air-tube. The beds were shallow enough to be worked without diving gear, but a man in a diving dress will raise five times as many pairs of shells as a man without in a given time, Clayton explained this. He left nothing wanting in the way of explanations and advice, and next morning, having filled up with provisions and water, he put out, taking the ebb, the Douro heeling to a five-knot breeze and followed past the break by a clanging escort of gulls.