flannels."

At this compliment to his more fortunate condition, Edgar seemed to
soften.

"I grant you," he said, "that the subject has almost invariably
been approached from the point of view you take. And what," he
demanded triumphantly, "has been the result? Failure, or at least,
before success was attained, a most unnecessary and regrettable
loss of blood and life. Now, on my expedition, I do not intend that
any blood shall be shed, or that anybody shall lose his life. I
have not entered into this matter hastily. I have taken out
information, and mean to benefit by other people's mistakes. When
I decided to go on with this," he explained, "I read all the books
that bear on searches for buried treasure, and I found that in each
case the same mistakes were made, and that then, in order to remedy
the mistakes, it was invariably necessary to kill somebody. Now, by
not making those mistakes, it will not be necessary for me to kill
any one, and nobody is going to have a chance to kill me.

"You propose that we fit out a schooner and sign on a crew. What
will happen? A man with a sabre cut across his forehead, or with a
black patch over one eye, will inevitably be one of that crew. And,
as soon as we sail, he will at once begin to plot against us. A
cabin boy who the conspirators think is asleep in his bunk will
overhear their plot and will run to the quarter-deck to give
warning; but a pistol shot rings out, and the cabin boy falls at
the foot of the companion ladder. The cabin boy is always the first
one to go. After that the mutineers kill the first mate, and lock
us in our cabin, and take over the ship. They will then broach a