"Suppose you open up and tell me, Paul; because somehow I don't seem to be able to get what you mean."
"It seems to me," the patrol leader remarked, seriously, "that while all of us scouts, and the professor's party in the bargain, have been shaking hands with each other over the lucky escape we had, we've pretty near forgotten one poor chap."
Jack gave a start, and then whistled softly.
"That's right, Paul," he said, "for I take it you mean the crazy islander."
"How do we know what happened to him?" Paul continued.
"But Mr. Jameson seemed to feel sure he would take to the hill when the flood came," Jack replied. "And he also told us, you remember, that some of their food was at a higher point than the water could have reached. So, if the crazy man wanders about that camp, there's no need of his going hungry long."
"I guess that's about so," Paul agreed, as though these words from his chum took away some of his anxiety. "From what they say, it seems as if he has come to look on them as friends. So, chances are ten to one he'd go to their different camps after the flood went down."
"Queer how he came to be here," Jack remarked.
"Oh, I don't know," the other observed; "there's no telling what a crazy person will do. His coming to this island must have been with the hazy notion that any one searching for him couldn't find him here."
"Searching for him, Paul?"