Slowly he walked to where the Dartaway was moored. He saw she was riding safely. Then he looked for the rowboat. It was nowhere to be seen, though it had been tied close to the motor craft.
“I guess he’s slipped away,” thought Jerry.
At that instant the sound of oars being worked caught his ears. He looked up and saw, coming around the point of the island, the tramp’s craft. But the tramp did not seem to be in it. Instead it held a fisherman, with a broad brimmed hat, a corduroy coat, green goggles on, and a big basket hung over one shoulder. In the boat two poles could be seen, also a gaff sticking up.
“Some one has stolen his boat,” thought Jerry. “Hi there!” he called. “Where you going?”
“Fare thee well!” called back the fisherman. “I must away on my mission.”
“Come back with that boat!” yelled Jerry.
“Why so? ’Tis mine,” came back the answer over the waters as the fisherman rowed farther out from shore. “Sorry to leave you in this fashion, but my mission calls.”
“Why it’s the tramp!” exclaimed Jerry, as he recognized the voice of the ragged man in spite of his queer disguise. “But where in the world did he get that rig?”
“What’s the matter?” asked Ned, having awakened and coming down to join Jerry.
“There goes our tramp,” said Jerry.