“What business is it of yours?”
“What business?” shouted Darkingham, wrathfully. “A good deal of my business. This island belongs to my uncle and you have no right here.”
“Oh, is that so!” exclaimed the stranger. “I didn’t know that this island belonged to anybody in particular.”
“Well, it does. Who are you anyway?”
“Oh, my name is of no account, since we are not acquainted,” answered the stranger. “If this is your island, I suppose the only thing for me to do is to get off of it.”
“What are you doing here?”
“Why—er—only looking around,” stammered the stranger.
“Are you alone?”
“Can’t you see that I am?”
“How did you get here?” asked Larkspur, who had come up. “We didn’t see you land.”