"We had good reasons enough," declared Phil. "We left town at midnight last night, hiked all the way to our boat-landing two miles up the river, and made the long pull up the Plum in the dark just for the sake of getting an early morning chance at the best bass rock you ever heard of—just to get chased out at the point of a shotgun after we'd landed the first one—a three pounder too. Can you blame us for being sore?"
"On Lost Island?" asked Jerry eagerly.
"No, off Lost Island. A big burly ruffian blew down on us, cussing a streak, and wouldn't hardly let us get into our boat. Chucked stones at us all the way across and promised us a mess of birdshot if we came back. Do you blame us for wanting to lay you out?" It was Dave's conqueror who spoke.
"If that's what you do on suspicion, I don't want to be around when you're sure of yourself. My ribs'll be sore for a week."
The boys had been talking excitedly; each one was wrought up over the fate of poor Tod and this was the only way they were willing to show their feelings. It was Phil who brought them back to earth.
"Well, fellows," he suggested, "let's get acquainted first, and then let's see if we can't frame up some way of getting across and going over that island from end to end. Line up, Scouts, and be presented."
The Scouts lined up in two columns.
"This is Sid Walmsly, nicknamed 'the worm,' partly because that's the way we pronounce his name, but mostly because it's a long worm that has no turn, and Sid says he's always the one to be left out. You can remember him by the wart on his left knuckle. Next is Dick Garrett; he's assistant Patrol Leader. This thin, long-drawn-out morsel of sweet temper is Fred Nelson. We tried to nickname him "Angel" but he licked everyone that tried it on him. Now comes our joker, we'd call him Trixie if we dared. His ma calls him Algy Brown. Frank Willis stands first in the behind row. He goes by the name of "Budge," chiefly because he won't unless he wants to. Barney Knowles, the littlest giant in the world—the one in the red sweater. He wears a sweater in July and shirt-sleeves in December. And last of all, but not least—far from it—Ted Lewis, the only grouchy fat man in captivity. Smile for us, Teddy." Teddy growled.
Jerry introduced himself and his two chums, and then turned anxiously to Phil. "Got any plan?"
"Why not just get into our boat and row over? We can tell that chump over there——"