"Thinks he's navigatin'," whispered Jarrow, with a wink to Trask.
"He looks a lot better than he did," said Locke. "Has more colour and walks with more vigour."
"Good eatin'," said Jarrow. "He perked right up the minute he come aboard. Acts like he's master. Don't do no harm, only Mr. Peth gits rubbed the wrong way sometimes. I say, if the old man gits any fun out of thinkin' it's his own schooner, what's the odds?"
"How did you come out on getting anything certain about the position of his island?" asked Locke. "From what you said last night it was a sure thing."
"Oh, we know where we're goin' right enough," said Jarrow.
"Then he's given you some more data?"
"We ain't goin' on his say-so. He give me the leaf out of his old log, with his noon position the day before he was lifted off his course by the typhoon."
"Is that enough?"
"We ought to run slap into his island. It's one of the Capones, off the Zambales coast. There's a whole flock of 'em, but the one I figure on stands out from the rest, from what I've worked."
"Wilkins, at the hotel, was telling me the geodetic people couldn't find the island."