ow. He then proceeded to squint closely into the patient
fellow's eyes, he felt of his head, his pulse, and looked at his tongue.
At last he stood back, pondering with an air of deep solemnity.

"It is true," he sighed. "The man is well."

"You look like we ought to put the flag at half-mast," I said. "What's
the objection to a little snicker?"

"I do not understand," he murmured, ignoring this flippancy, "how he got
well so soon."

"Of all the funereal old bugs!" Tommy began to laugh at him. "If you
ever doctored me, gezabo, and I happened to recover, darned if I
wouldn't turn around and die out of pity for you! Come here, Smilax, I
want to ask some questions!"

The result of Tommy's probing showed that late the previous afternoon,
while this negro was fishing sponges, the _Orchid_ deliberately ran him
down. She would not have stopped, but luckily he grasped the bowsprit
stays and climbed aboard of her. Here he was met and roundly cursed by
angry men who were, for a while, at least, in favor of throwing him
back. He had seen the _Whim_ following. No, he had not seen a lady. Yes,
he had heard strange music that, with our shooting at them, decided him
to swim off to us during the night.

To Tommy's further questioning we learned that he knew nothing of the
Ten Thousand Islands except through hearsay. As to his wound the recital
was brief: he had been put to work wrapping up many things in old sails;
two men came into the galley and stood by while he finished the last
bundle, then one of them who wore a cap like--he pointed to
Gates--stepped behind him, something crashed upon his head, and that was
all.

Tommy drew in his breath with a sharp hiss, saying:

"That's a cold blooded bunch!"

"They're on those islands, sir," Gates cried. "I just feel it!"

The mate and his half of the crew had come aboard after making the
_Orchid_ snug for whatever weather the increasing sultriness portended,
while Tommy took Smilax forward to coach him in the manipulation of an
automatic revolver--for this modern arm puzzled the big negro who was,
however, nicely skilled in the use of older models.

That something brewed in the way of a storm did not require a barometer
or the eye of a seaman to determine, so I insisted upon speeding up
preparations for the landing force. This met the approval of all, since
the skipper thought it likely that we could be put ashore and the _Whim_
get well on her way back to Big Cove before the dis