“Quarantine station.  Lots of smallpox coming in now on the China steamers, and they make them go there till the doctors say they ’re safe to land.  I tell you, they ’re strict about it, too.  Why—­”

Splash!  Had ’Frisco Kid finished his sentence just then, instead of diving overboard, much trouble might have been saved to Joe.  But he did not finish it, and Joe dived after him.

“I ’ll tell you what,” ’Frisco Kid suggested half an hour later, while they clung to the bobstay preparatory to climbing out.  “Let ’s catch a mess of fish for dinner, and then turn in and make up for the sleep we lost last night.  What d’ you say?”

They made a race to clamber aboard, but Joe was shoved over the side again.  When he finally did arrive, the other lad had brought to light a pair of heavily leaded, large-hooked lines and a mackerel-keg of salt sardines.

“Bait,” he said.  “Just shove a whole one on.  They ’re not a bit partic’lar.  Swallow the bait, hook and all, and go—­that ’s their caper.  The fellow that does n’t catch the first fish has to clean ’em.”

Both sinkers started on their long descent together, and seventy feet of line whizzed out before they came to rest.  But at the instant his sinker touched the bottom Joe felt the struggling jerks of a hooked fish.  As he began to haul in he glanced at ’Frisco Kid and saw that he too had evidently captured a finny prize.  The race between them was exciting.  Hand over hand the wet lines flashed inboard.  But ’Frisco Kid was more expert, and his fish tumbled into the cockpit first.  Joe’s followed an instant later—­a three-pound rock-cod.  He was wild with joy.  It was magnificent—­the largest fish he had ever landed or ever seen landed.  Over went the lines again, and up they came with two mates of the ones already captured.  It was sport royal.  Joe would certainly have continued till he had fished the bay empty, had not ’Frisco Kid persuaded him to stop.

“We ’ve got enough for three meals now,” he said, “so there ’s no use in having them spoil.  Besides, the more you catch the more you clean, and you ’d better start in right away.  I ’m going to bed.”

CHAPTER XII

JOE TRIES TO TAKE FRENCH LEAVE

Joe did not mind.  In fact, he was glad he had not caught the first fish, for it helped out a little plan which had come to him while swimming.  He threw the last cleaned fish into a bucket of water and glanced about him.  The quarantine station was a bare half-mile away, and he could make out a soldier pacing up and down at sentry duty on the beach.  Going into the cabin, he listened to the heavy breathing of the sleepers.  He had to pass so close to ’Frisco Kid to get his bundle of clothes that he decided not to take it.  Returning outside, he carefully pulled the skiff alongside, got aboard with a pair of oars, and cast off.