“Suppose we let it go at that, boys. The thing’s good enough as it stands and we can get on with it for the few weeks that remain of our stay at Quasi.”
“Then you really see a way out?” asked Larry. “What is it?”
“Come on over to the bluff and we’ll have a last look for Mr. Dunbar. If he isn’t within sight we’ll give him up and make up our minds that we shall never see the Hunkydory again. Then we’ll talk the thing over and see what is to be done.”
They set out for the bluff, restraining their impatience to hear what Cal might have to say with a good deal of difficulty, and only because they must. They knew he would say nothing until he should be ready, and that if they hurried him he would remain silent the longer.
No sign appearing of Dunbar or the dory, Cal sat down with the others and seemed ready to say what was in his mind.
“This is a situation that we didn’t reckon upon, but it is by no means hopeless, and we shall enjoy talking about it as the crowning event in our trip to Quasi when we come to think of it only as a memory.”
“But we’re not out of it yet,” interrupted Larry, “and I for one see no prospect of getting out.”
“There speaks despair, born of pessimism,” Cal smilingly said. “‘Hope springs eternal in the human breast,’ you know, and my breast is altogether human and hopeful. But let us suppose your despair is well founded, and see what then. At worst we shall not starve to death. There is plenty of game—”
“Yes, and fish too,” Tom interjected.