“What’s happened to them, do you think?”
“I can’t make it out. The boat has shipped some water, but nothing to be worried about. The motor’s O.K. and there’s plenty of gas. They may have got into the surf, thought she was going to founder, perhaps, and swam ashore like we did.”
“But they’re not on the island?”
“No. If they made the beach, it was somewhere else along the coast.”
“We should worry,” said Dorothy. “If they don’t want her, we do—and she certainly looks good to me.”
They walked down the shingle and Bill got aboard the boat.
“You wait on the beach,” he directed. “It’s pretty wet underfoot. I’ll pass the things overside. I think the best plan is for you to go up in the dunes and change there. Meanwhile, I’ll start in with the handpump and get rid of the water. I’ll have her good and dry by the time you get back. Then you can rustle a meal while I put on dry things. Catch!”
Dorothy found herself possessed of a bundle knotted in a large bath towel. Upon inspection it proved to contain dungaree trousers, a jumper, a dark blue sweater, woolen socks and a pair of rubber-soled shoes.
“They may be a trifle large,” said Bill. “But at least they’re dry and the clothes seem to be clean.”
“Nothing could be sweeter,” was Dorothy’s comment. “See you in ten minutes—so long!”