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Updated: May 7, 2025
"I'll make ye rich!" persisted Dinshaw, in his high-pitched, quivering voice, and giving no heed to the admonitions of the black man and not in the least disconcerted by the lack of welcome. "I'm goin' to my island!" "Der more kvicker, der more petter," said Vanderzee, and humped his shoulders up with a convulsive shrug. "Maype you prink it back und anchor it off der lighthouse, hey?"
At this moment Sahib Perbut came into the grand saloon leading a boy, who did not appear to be more than ten years old, by the hand. He was dressed in the most richly ornamented garments, and he was an exceedingly pretty little fellow. He was conducted to the viscount. "Will your Lordship permit me to present to you and your friends my son Dinshaw, in whose honor I am making this feast?
Dinshaw came out, in great glee over an immediate landing on his island, and could scarcely be restrained from climbing over the side and into the boat long enough to have his coffee. As the final preparations were being made for the departure of the boat, Marjorie appeared, clad in khaki, with a short skirt and heavy shoes. "I'm all ready," she cried, thinking that everybody was embarking.
But Dinshaw held his ground, and as Vanderzee cried out to take care, the captain merely pushed the old man back with a snort of rage. "But it's all settled, I tell ye!" insisted Dinshaw. "Hard and fast. We're to go " "Then go!" snarled Jarrow. "Go jump off the Mole, and give me some rest and quiet. I got other things to 'tend to.
What if Dinshaw had not been dreaming after all? Suppose Peth and Jarrow were plotting to play all hands double? But it would be silly to abandon the voyage just as they were about to arrive at the island, and while undoubtedly there had been gossip and conjecture about the island, it was quite possible that if Dinshaw had overheard some light talk, he had misinterpreted its import.
"Come over here and sit down," said Locke, rising, and pushing forward a chair. "You ought to have something to drink and a bite to eat. Shouldn't be out in sun like this with that sort of headgear." Dinshaw muttered a thanks, and dropped into the chair, his thin, wrinkled face drawing into a queer smile. He let the package fall across his knees, and his hat dropped from his trembling fingers.
Captain Dinshaw went into the cabin, and looking down, Trask could see him bent over the table, sucking a stub of a pencil and studying a sheet of paper. "What's the bearin' and distance of Point Luzon?" he called up the companion. Jarrow looked at Locke and smiled. "Northwest, five miles," called Jarrow, after a look at the compass and the land. "What course ye steerin'?" "Nor'wes'bywes'."
The other man was a big fellow with much tattooing on his hands and wrists. Captain Jarrow summoned him to the cabin door and introduced him as "Shope, who was to go b'sun." "There's Captain Dinshaw!" cried Marjorie, as the patron steered the tug to come alongside. Dinshaw had popped up over the starboard bulwark, and watched the tug maneuver with critical eye.
"I'd have to shift my duds," he said, "and I ain't for huntin' sharks' eggs on Looney's say. What ye think, Peth? Shall we fill up that way?" "I ain't no hand for them swells," said Peth. "You go, cap'n, an' I'll stand by down here with Dinshaw." "Vait!" said Vanderzee, holding up a black hand. "Vot's der name? Locke!" He stepped into a tiny office behind the bar.
"Dad's stubborn, but he's easy to handle. We'll act as if we didn't care a whoop about this Dinshaw business until we miss the Thursday boat. Then we'll give him no rest. But remember, I'm for the Thursday boat. That's just to throw him off his guard. He's a dear old Dad, but sometimes he's balky."
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