the storm.

The motor boat _Manhattan_ lay tossing and drawing at her anchor in an
obscure bay of tiny dimensions on the west coast of a small island which
is a member of the Babuyan group and faces the China Sea. Ned, Frank,
Jack and Jimmie sat sweating in the little cabin, which was in the back
of the boat, the engine being located toward the center. The day was
dark because of the clouds and the downpour of the rain, and the heavy
foliage of the trees which came down to the very lip of the bay made it
dim in the little cabin, but there was no artificial light.

The boys were waiting for the storm to subside. They knew the moods of
the weather man of the Philippines well enough to understand that the
rain was likely to continue for several days, it being the opening of
the rainy season, but they preferred not to face the initial tempest. In
a few hours comparative quiet would come, and there would be only the
steady fall of rain.

Since leaving the little island where the transport had landed them,
they had visited three little dots of land in the channel, and on each
one they had found signals in grass pointing to the north and west.

"That Boy Scout, whoever he is," Jimmie said, as they discussed the
signals in the almost stifling atmosphere of the cabin, "is strictly
next to his job! He's showing the way, all right!"

"I'll bet you a can of corn against a bite of canned pie that he's from
New York," Jack Bosworth observed.

"Speaking of pie," Frank cut in, "there's a little restaurant on Beekman
street where they serve hot pies at noon for a dime. You go in there at
twelve and get a peach pie, and an apple pie, and a berry pie, hot out
of the oven, and buy a piece of cheese, and go back to the office and
consume your frugal repast. What?"

"If you talk about hot pie here," Jack said, threateningly, "I'll tip
you out of the boat. Pie! When I go back to little old New York I'm
going to have mother meet me at the pier with a pie under each arm!"

"I won't take your bet, Jack," Jimmie said. "I'd lose. I know he's from
New York, an' he belongs to the Wolf Patrol."

"I thought you left your dream book at home!" cried Frank.

"There was a boy named Pat Mack," Jimmie went on, "who enlisted and went
to the Philippines a year ago. He was sixteen when he enlisted, but
looked older, and so they let him in, he bein' a husky chap. He belonged
to the Wolf Patrol, an' was a chum of Ned's. You remember him, Ned?"

"Pat