They were, considerably, all three, Percy in particular. For the next hour conversation dragged; but all the while Tarpaulin loomed larger and larger. To Jim it wore the aspect of an old friend, and he dilated on its features for the benefit of the others.
"You see that western end is fifty acres of pasture, sloping north; those gray dots are sheep grazing. The eastern half is just scrub evergreen. That little cove on the northeast corner's the Sly Hole; you mightn't think it, but a good-sized schooner can ride there at low tide. Pretty rocky all round. Always a surf breaking on one side or the other. Our landing-place is on the south."
Before long the Barracouta and her tow were skirting the eastern ledges. Under the island it was comparatively calm, and the seasick three felt better. Then, as they rounded a wooded promontory and turned west, it grew rough again, but only for a few minutes. Spurling steered the sloop into calm water behind the protecting elbow of another point, off which lay the half-submerged hulk of a wrecked vessel.
"Sprawl's Cove!" exclaimed Jim. "How do you like the looks of your hotel, Whittington?"
III
TARPAULIN ISLAND
Curiosity dispelled the last vestiges of Percy's seasickness. For a little while he gazed without speaking.
A cove four hundred feet wide opened toward the south between two rocky points. At its head a pebbly beach sloped up to a sea-wall, behind which a growth of cattails bespoke a stagnant lagoon. Still farther back a steep bank of dirt rose to the overhanging sod of the pasture.