always told him that; yet what else was there to speak about Cousin
Scraper? "He--he collects shells!" he faltered, after a pause, during
which he was conscious of the Skipper's eyes piercing through and
through him, and probably seeing the very holes in his stockings. But
now the Skipper threw back his head with a laugh.

"He collects shells, eh? My faith, I have come to the right place, I
with my 'Nautilus.' See, young gentleman! I go with my shells where I
think is good market. In large cities, many rich people who collect
shells. I sell many, many, some very precious. Never have I come up this
river of great beauty; but I say, who knows? Maybe here are persons who
know themselves, who have the feeling of shells in their hearts. I find,
first you, Colorado; and that you have the feeling in your heart I see,
at the first look you give to my pretties here. That you have the
fortune to live with a collector, that I could not guess, ha? He is
kind, I say, this Scraper? He loves you as a son, he gives you his
shells to look at, to care for as your own?"

John hung his head again.

"He keeps them locked up," he admitted. "I never had one in my hand,
except the one on the mantelpiece, sometimes when he goes to sleep after
dinner. I--I must be going now!" he cried in desperation, making his way
to the gang-plank. "I must get home, or he'll--"

"What he will do?" the Skipper inquired, holding the plank in his hand.
"What he do to you, young gentleman, eh? A little scold you, because you
stay too long to talk with the Skipper from the Bahamas, hey? No more
than that, is it not?"