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Updated: May 31, 2025
I believe he's a clean, straight little fellow, and he can more than make up for his board by cooking and doing odd jobs. We can afford to pay him something to boot." Before either Budge or Throppy had a chance to express an opinion Percy spoke out decidedly: "Take that little Dago with us? I say no. You can't trust his kind. I know 'em.
Wild geese were honking overhead in V-shaped lines on their way south. Mr. Whittington accompanied the others on a gunning trip to Window Ledge, and came back with a dozen coots. He smacked his lips over the coot stew and dumplings prepared by Jim. Throppy dismantled his wireless and packed up his outfit to send away.
Throppy, because of his mechanical and inventive turn of mind, was intrusted with the duty of seeing that the cabin, the boats, and all the gear were kept in first-class shape. "Now," concluded Jim, "so far the most important position of all has gone begging. Who'll be cook? Whittington, it lies between you and Filippo."
For him the Fourth had been anything but a holiday. Before going to sleep, Spurling outlined their work for the morrow. "Throppy, you and I'll try our luck on Martingale Bank. It's only a half-mile northwest of the island, and sometimes you can get a big catch there. I've been saving it for a time like this.
Fetch a five-gallon can of gas from the fish-house, Perce! Budge and Throppy, launch that dory!" Dashing into the cabin, he quickly reappeared. "Thought I'd better get one of those first-aid packets! Somebody may be burnt bad. Now, fellows! Lively!" The dory was barely afloat when Percy came staggering down the beach with the heavy can. Spurling swung it aboard, and all but Filippo jumped in.
"Do you think that two such farmers as Throppy and I could make much of a fist at fishing?" "Sure thing! I can show you how. I've fished since I was ten years old." "Where did you say the island is?" asked Stevens. "Right out in the Atlantic Ocean, a good twenty-five miles from the mainland.
Jim had smiled and made no reply; but after that either Throppy or Budge went out with him after hake. What the others said in private about Percy he neither knew nor cared. On this particular forenoon the lobster-catchers had half circled the island. As they nosed along the northern shore Percy spied some strange-looking floats ahead. "There's a red buoy!" he exclaimed.
He dodged into an open doorway, only to be driven out by a giant with Jabe's face and a half-dozen pairs of arms the fists of which were studded with a double allowance of knuckles. He was fast being pounded to a pulp when the alarm-clock went off. He woke in a cold sweat. Lying with closed eyes, he pretended to be asleep while Jim and Throppy finished a hasty breakfast.
Would it not be better to hurry back to the cabin, warn Filippo and Throppy, and escape up the bank into the woods? The smugglers, with but two automatics against four, would hardly dare to follow them. "Way enough, Dolph!" growled Brittler's voice. The sloop had grounded. Splash! Splash! Her two passengers had leaped out into the water and were making their way to the beach.
Jim came to an instant decision. He opened his lips, but the words he had planned to speak were never uttered. The strong, rhythmical dip of oars suddenly beat through the fog. "What's the trouble here?" demanded a stern voice. A great surge of thankfulness almost took away Jim's power of speech. "It's the cutter!" he ejaculated, chokingly. "Throppy got her, after all!"
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