nd is?" asked Stevens.

"Right out in the Atlantic Ocean, a good twenty-five miles from the
mainland. It's about a half-mile long and a quarter broad, partly
covered with scrub evergreen, and has fifty acres of pasture. Uncle
Tom's got some sheep there, too. He's afraid they'll be stolen; so he
wants somebody there the earliest minute possible. He'll furnish all the
gear and go halves with us on the season's catch. What do you say,
Budge?"

"I'm with you, if Throppy is."

"It's a go," was Stevens's verdict.

Somebody knocked on the door.

"Come in!" called Spurling.

To their great surprise, in came Mr. Whittington.

Removing his Panama, he took the chair Spurling offered him. An
unlighted cigar was gripped between his short, stubby fingers. There
were dark circles under his steel-gray eyes, and his jaw had, if
possible, more of a bulldog set than ever. His square, sturdy build,
without fat or softness, suggested a freight locomotive with a driving
power to go through anything. He was not a handsome man, but he was
undeniably a strong one.

He plunged at once into the purpose of his visit.

"I guess you know I'm Whittington's father. I've just been over to
Principal Blodgett's, having a talk about Percy. I don't need to tell
you how he's spent his year here, so I'll come right to the point."

He leaned forward and fastened his keen eyes on Spurling.

"The principal says you plan to spend the summer fishing from an island
on the Maine coast. I want Percy to go with you."

The three exchanged glances of amazement. Lane swallowed a grin. Nobody
spoke for a half-minute; then Spurling broke the silence.

"I don't want to hurt your feelings, Mr. Whittington, but, honestly, the
thing isn't possible. That island is ten miles from the nearest other
land. We're not out for a pleasure junket, but for three months of the
hardest kind of hard work. There'll be no automobiling, no pool or cards
or moving pictures. It means being up at midnight, and not getting to
bed until the fish have been taken care of. It means sore fingers and
lame backs and aching joints. It means standing wind and cold and fog
and rain until you're tired and wet and chilled to the bone. It's a
dead-earnest business out there, one hundred days of it, and every day
has got to count. A college year for the three of us hangs on this
summer, and we can't risk having it spoiled. You'll have to think up
some other place for Percy."

Mr. Whittington'