“Oh, I don’t mind a fellow roaming around a little,” said Alfred Darkingham, loftily. “But we came here to camp out, and of course we prefer to have the island to ourselves.”
“I see. Well—er—I shan’t disturb you. I—er—left my fishing outfit on the opposite shore. I’ll go and get it, and then I’ll be ready to leave as soon as my friend comes for me.”
“Oh, you needn’t be in such a tremendous hurry, Mr.——”
“Smith—plain John Smith,” filled in the stranger. “I’m stopping at Peak’s Island.”
“My name is Alfred Darkingham. These are my friends, Jerry Koswell and Bart Larkspur.”
“Koswell!” cried the stranger, in considerable surprise. “Did you say Jerry Koswell.”
“Yes.”
“Did you—were you a student at Brill College?” asked the man who had given his name as John Smith.
“Why, yes,” was the reply. “But I don’t remember you.”
“No, for you never met me. But I have heard of you, and I think I have heard of your friend, Mr. Larkspur. Didn’t you once have some trouble with some fellow students named Rover?”