Doc was all agrin, and regarded the early trip ashore in the nature of a lark, and cast aside his white coat, to help row in his resplendent sweater, while the cook went about laying the table for breakfast, his round yellow face devoid of any interest in what was going on.
It was decided that Dinshaw should steer, which tickled him mightily, and Captain Jarrow plied an oar himself.
"Keep a good look-out," warned Jarrow, as they shoved off and began to pull toward the land.
"You bet we will," said Trask, gaily. "Don't go above high-water mark for that sand, but fill the bucket from any dark spots you can find."
"Captain Dinshaw'll simply die of joy," said Marjorie. "I'd hoped we might all go together and see him land."
"You'd better put your hat on, Marge, or you'll have a skinned nose," said her father. "We'll be right in to breakfast."
"There's some hocus-pocus about this," whispered Trask, as he and Locke moved forward for a private talk.
"What do you make of it?"
"Jarrow's in on the deal with the crew. That's why I wanted him out of the way for awhile so we could figure things out. I believe that Dinshaw did hear them say they intended to steal his island. Peth or Jarrow got my gun, but Jarrow thinks we've three more between us. I told him last night you had two. He wants to get us separated."
"Good Lord!" exclaimed Locke, aghast. "You can't mean they want to put us out of the way!"