ew theory," said Bridger, "that I picked up down in Ratona. I''ve been gathering support for it as I knock about. The world isn''t ripe for it yet, but -- well I''ll tell you; and then you run your mind back along the people you''ve known and see what you make of it."
And so I cornered Bridger in a place where they have artificial palms and wine; and he told me the story which is here in my words and on his responsibility.
One afternoon at three o''clock, on the island of Ratona, a boy raced alongthe beach screaming, "Pajaro, ahoy!"
Thus he made known the keenness of his hearing and the justice of his discrimination in pitch.
He who first heard and made oral proclamation con- cerning the toot of an approaching steamer''s whistle, and correctly named the steamer, was a small hero in Ratona -until the'' next steamer came. Wherefore, there was rivalry among the barefoot youth of Ratona, and many fell victims to the softly blown conch shells of sloops which, as they enter harbour, sound surprisingly like a distant steamer''s signal. And some could name you the vessel when its call, in your duller ears, sounded no louder than the sigh of the wind through the branches of the cocoa- nut palms.
But to-day he who proclaimed the Pajaro gained his honours. Ratona bent its ear to listen; and soon the deep-tongued blast grew louder and nearer, and at length Ratona saw above the line of palms on the low "joint" the two black funnels of the fruiter slowly creeping toward the mouth of the harbour.