Lena examined the shell curiously.  “It does look like music!” she said.  “But there ain’t really any notes, are there?  Not like our notes, I mean.  If there was, I should admire to see how they sounded on the reed organ.  It would make a pretty pin, if ’t wasn’t so big!”

She was about to hand the shell back quietly—­she looked like a rose-leaf in moonlight, this pretty Lena, but she was practical, and had little imagination—­but John caught it from her with a swift yet timorous motion.

“I want to hear it,” he said, his pleading eyes on the Skipper’s face.  “I want to hear what it says!”

The dark man nodded and smiled; but a moment later, seeing the lean fingers of Mr. Endymion Scraper about to clutch the treasure, he took it quietly in his own hand again, and turned to the old man.

“Gentleman spoke to me?” he inquired, blandly.

The gentleman had not spoken, but had made a series of gasps and grunts, expressive of extreme impatience and eagerness.

“That’s a poor specimen,” he cried now, eying the shell greedily, “a very poor specimen!  What do you expect to get for it, hey?”

“A perfect specimen!” replied the Skipper, calmly.  “The gentleman has but to look at it closer”—­and he held it nearer to the greedy corkscrew eyes—­“to see that it is a rare specimen, more perfect than often seen in museums.  I brought up this shell myself, with care choosing it; its price is five dollars.”

Mr. Endymion Scraper gave a scream, which he tried to turn into a disdainful chuckle.

“Five cents would be nearer it!” he cried, angrily.  “Think we’re all fools down here, hey?  Go ’long with your five dollars.”

“No, Senor, not all fools!” said the Skipper.  “Many varieties among men, as among shells.  I am in no haste to sell the Voluta Musica.  It has its price, as gentleman knows by his catalogue.  Here is a razor-shell; perhaps the gentleman like that.  Shave yourself or other people with this!”

“I want to know!” interposed Mrs. Isaac Cutter, leaning forward eagerly, spectacles on nose.  “Can folks really shave with those, sir?  They do look sharp, now, don’t they?  What might you ask for a pair?”

“Perhaps not very easy to grind, lady!” replied the Skipper, with a smile which won Mrs. Isaac’s heart.  “Not a rare shell, only fifty cents the pair.  Thank you, madam!  To show you this?  With gladness!  This is the Bleeding Tooth shell, found in plenty in West Indies.  They have also dentists under the sea, graciously observe.  See here,—­the whole family!  The baby, he have as yet no tooth, the little gum smooth and white.  Here, the boy! (Como ti, Juan Colorado!” this in a swift aside, caught only by John’s ear.) “The boy, he have a tooth pulled, you observe, madam; here the empty space, with blood-mark, thus.  Hence the name, Bleeding Tooth.  Here the father, getting old, has lost two teeth, bleeding much; and this being the old grandfather, all teeth are gone, again.  Yes, curious family!  You kindly accept these persons, madam, with a wish that you never suffer of this manner.”