“Shall we get you a doctor?” Phyllis inquired anxiously. “We can take you back to the mainland in the boat.”
He shook his head and smiled. “Plane a wreck?”
“Smashed,” Gale supplied for him. She handed him a glass of cool spring water brought in by Peter.
He drained it and handed the glass back to her with a wide smile. “Thanks, feel a lot better now. Where am I anyway?” He looked curiously about the cabin, at the woven rug in the center of the floor, at the small radio set, at the furnishings and curtains at the window.
“We use this as a sort of camping lodge,” Bruce explained. “In a shelter next to this we keep a small canoe. We often spend a whole day here on picnics.”
“Cozy place,” the pilot declared.
“Don’t you think you should go to a doctor with that ankle?” Peter interjected. “We can easily run you over to Marchton.”
The pilot looked at him thoughtfully. From Peter his gaze traveled in turn to each of the others. He frowned at the fireplace before he spoke.
“I don’t know how to make you understand—I’d like to stay here in your cabin—until my ankle mends. Will you rent it to me—say, for a few weeks?”
“Of course,” Bruce said with a frown, “but——”