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NEW HORIZONS
Mrs. Fahnestock. — No, Dr. Miner, we didn’t have a dull moment. Sure, our backs were blistered . . . our lips were swollen . . . and our faces were parched by the sun. But when we weren’t thinking of the heat and talking about the lack of wind, we would discuss the thrills that awaited us at Tongareva, where my two sons were planning to dive for pearls.
Andrews. — And when the wind finally did come, you headed straight for the pearl lagoons.
Mrs. Fahnestock. — Yes, on a good spanking breeze.
Lyon. — Did you go diving for pearls yourself, Mrs. Fahnestock?
Mrs. Fahnestock. — No ... I wanted to, but somehow I didn’t work up enough courage to do it. I spent most of each day sitting on the deck of the Director . . . that’s the name of the schooner . . . opening oysters. I opened enough oysters to start a string of oyster bars from New York to San Francisco.
Miner. — And opening those pearl oysters is no easy job. Miss Lyon.
Lyon. — Why not, Dr. Miner ?
Miner. — Because pearl oysters are much heavier and much larger than the oysters we have here at home. Some of them weigh 8 pounds.
Lyon. — Goodness, you wouldn’t need many of those for oyster stew! But tell me, Mrs. Fahnestock, did you find any pearls in them ?
Mrs. Fahnestock. — Yes ... we found a great many. . . . None perfect or very large, but they were all beautiful to me. All day long the native divers and my sons would dump big piles of oysters in front of me.
Andrews. — It must have been hard work, Mrs. Fahnestock.
Lyon. — And hard on the hands. . . .
Mrs. Fahnestock. — It was all of that . . . but at the same time, it was a great thrill to slip in the knife, open the shell
Andrews. — And peek for a pearl.
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