e Baron's face.

"Oh!" he says, with a comical look of dismay, "ve haf no cup; ve must
drink like dthe natives," and he saws away an opening and hands the
cocoanut to Mrs. Steele. She puts her lips to the shell and tastes a
drop with dainty distrust.

"Oh, Madame, it ees fery gude--you vill like it if you drink more!"
But Mrs. Steele passes it on to me. The first sip is so cool and
refreshing I greedily tip the shell to take a long draught, and the
liquid runs down both sides of my mouth into my lap. The Baron insists
there is an art in cocoanut tippling.

"You must hold dthe mout' zo--" and he illustrates, "and dthe cocoa
zo." He puts it cautiously to his lips. "Now!" he says, after taking a
sip, "you try!"

With childish good faith I take the clumsy nut, but as I lift it to
drink I notice a covert gleam of satisfaction in the Peruvian's eyes,
and I realise in a flash that the cocoa shell is becoming a sort of a
loving-cup--for there was but one little place cut for drinking where
first I essayed the draught and then the Baron.

"My dear," remarks my quiet but observant chaperon, "I have never been
able before to account for the milk in the cocoanut. I know all about
it now!"

I throw the shell into the water with an impatient gesture.

"I know all I wish to. It's a great bother and very little gained."

The Baron looks disagreeably amused, and I feel hot.

"Capitan," he says to me, "vill you take dthe tiller again?"

I pick up the tiller ropes and steer out towards some small schooners
grouped to the left of the town near the entrance of the harbour.

"I do believe those are pearl fishers," says Mrs. Steele, who has been
looking through her glass. The Baron starts up and questions the
Mexican.

"_Si! Si!_" he answers, and with long, even strokes he brings us
within speaking distance of the nearest vessel. Baron de Bach stands
up and shouts out a series of inquiries in Spanish. I look over the
side of the boat, and at a vision in the water I start from my seat
with a shriek of delight and almost capsize the poor Peruvian. He
clutches wildly at the air and finally keels over backwards on the
astonished Mexican.

When they recover they find Mrs. Steele and me leaning over the side
of the boat following the uncertain motions of a bloated crab-like
monster crawling along the bottom of the deep.

"Why, that's the diver," explains Mrs. Steele. "You see that rubber
tube--one end is attached to the machine on