Part 2 (1/2)

CHAPTER II

A MAN ON A DESERT ISLAND

”All right, all right!” shouted Captain Bannister, ”we hear yer.

You needn't ahoy so much.”

But the voice continued to shout ”s.h.i.+p ahoy!” at a great rate, until the ”Hoppergra.s.s” drew slowly ahead, and we could see what had been hidden by the sail.

A sand-bar stuck out of the water, right in the middle of the river. Only a few feet of it showed, and the island which it made was very small. It was so small that the man who was sitting on it had his legs drawn up till his knees came right under his chin, so as to keep his feet from getting wet. He was a young man, about twenty years old. He had on white trousers and a pink s.h.i.+rt, and he was slowly waving a white canvas hat. His hair was sandy, and very much ruffled, and his big, pale blue eyes were wide open, as though he were surprised about something.

”s.h.i.+p ahoy!” he remarked again, but in an ordinary conversational tone, this time.

Then he climbed to his feet,--carefully, so as to keep the steep sides of his little, sand island from giving way, and letting him down into the water. As soon as he was standing up straight he raised one hand in the air, as if he were in a play, and said: ”Rescued at last!”

Then he turned toward us, and remarked: ”Gentlemen, I thank you.”

”You better wait till you're on board,” said the Captain, ”before you begin thankin' us. I'll come about in a minute, an' then we'll fetch yer in the tender.”

Jimmy Toppan had already begun to pull the small boat alongside, but before he could get into it, the young man called out: ”That's all right! I'll swim.”

And he plunged into the water, and struck out toward us. Of course he could not overtake a sail-boat, and we soon left him behind. He kept on swimming, however, until his hat fell off. Turning around, he picked up the hat, and jammed it on his head again. By this time the Captain had put about, and started on a tack that brought us near the swimmer. The young man came alongside, with a smile on his wet face.

”Don't try to grab the boat,” shouted the Captain, ”get hold of the tender!”

So the swimmer let us pa.s.s him, seized the side of the small boat, and after one or two trials (which nearly upset the tender) managed to climb in. He stood up in the stern, and raised his hand toward the sky, again, as if he were ”speaking a piece” in school.

”Safe! Safe, at last!” he cried.

At this instant the painter became taut; the small boat gave a sudden jerk, and he went overboard again like a flash, head first.

Captain Bannister turned his head to see how the young man was getting on. Of course the boat was empty.

”Where'n the nation has he got to, now?” exclaimed the bewildered Captain.

We were all doubled up laughing, but we managed to gasp out: ”He's gone overboard again!”

”What's he done that for?”

”He--he--fell over!”

”Fell over? What'n the d.i.c.kens did he do that for? Where is he, anyhow?”

At this moment the sandy head, and astonished face came up, once more, in our wake. He brushed the water out of his eyes, looked at us, and began to smile again.

”Say, you!” shouted the Captain, ”be you comin' on this boat, or what be you goin' to do?”

The swimmer gasped.

”If you keep on at that rate,” he called, ”I'm probably NOT coming. If you'll wait a bit, though, I'll--”