The Silken Hast ca-
irns JAPANESE HEAD
at the life, the other at the head-line ; the latter the tender and leader of the boat.
For some little space of time we wait, listening to the monotonous screeching of the wheel ; then the rope tightens, the tender hauls, a burst of bubbles is borne up in tumult to the surface, the tenders run swiftly together, and the diver, like a strange beast hooked up from the sea-deeps, emerges and clings to the ladder over the side of the boat. And there he lies, bent over, the type of exhaustion. The crew hasten to raise his helmet, and, lightened of its burden, he steps on deck, his startled Japanese head showing out of his monstrous clothes, his eyes blinking with the change from the deep floor of the sea to its sunlit surface. In a small brown net, like those which old ladies use in England when they go a-shopping, lie the shells he has found.