"Barnum & Bailey's come to town!" muttered Budge.
His craft safely moored, the man drew in a small punt which was towing astern and stepped into it. The dog followed.
"Back, Oliver!" ordered his master.
Grasping the animal by the scruff of the neck, he tossed him into the standing-room. Then he slowly sculled the punt to the beach. Jim walked down to meet him.
The stranger was of medium height, and apparently over sixty years old. His beard and mustache were gray. He wore a black slouch-hat and a Prince Albert coat, threadbare and shiny, but neatly brushed. He stepped briskly ashore, with shoulders well set back. His dark eyes carried a suggestion of melancholy, and his face was deeply lined.
"I've dropped in to make repairs," said he. "Broke my main boom in a squall about a mile north of the island, and thought I might get some one here to help me fix it."
"You did right to come," returned Jim. "We'll be glad to do anything we can, Mr.—"
"Thorpe," supplied the other. "That isn't my name, but it'll do as well as any."
"Mine's Spurling," said Jim.
They shook hands and walked up to the camp. There Jim introduced the newcomer to the other boys. Supper was about to be put on the table and the stranger was invited to share it. He accepted, and ate heartily, almost ravenously.