"That narrows it down to Filippo," said Jim. "What do you say? Will you cook for us?"
The Italian's melancholy olive face lighted up with pleasure.
"Si, si!" he exclaimed, gladly. "I will cook."
"Good enough! You're elected, then! We'll all tell you everything we know. Here's an old cook-book on the shelf, and well teach you the recipes. That leaves Whittington for general-utility man. He'll be our hewer of wood and drawer of water, to say nothing of washing the dishes. We'll all feel free to call on him whenever any of us gets into a tight place. How does that hit you, Whittington?"
"Never touched me! I'm no servant."
"What will you do, then?" inquired Jim, pointedly.
"Just what I please, and not a thing besides," replied Percy, with equal directness.
The others exchanged looks, but Jim said no more.
The greater part of the afternoon was devoted to setting the lobster-traps. They were loaded on the sloop, dory, and pea-pod, taken out, and dropped overboard around the island, brown bottles, of which there was a generous supply in the shed, being fastened to the warps for "toggles," to hold them off the bottom, so that they might not catch on the rocks. By five all the traps were set.
"You and Throppy can pull these to-morrow morning, Budge," said Jim, and he gave them brief directions. "I'll make a trip with you myself the next day. But to-morrow Whittington and I are going to see what we can get on the trawl."