“My name is Leighton—Andrew Leighton. I thought I’d try it to see if I could. Now, I’ve got to get word to my folks that I’m all right, and get back.”
Meanwhile the Englishman had shaken Andy’s hand.
“That’s not so easy,” he answered, laughing. “The place is uninhabited; it’s off the steamer route. I don’t belong here; we’re prospecting the pearl and sponge bottoms. I’m from Andros. We’ll be leaving in a day or so. You can go with us. I’ll send you to Nassau, or send word for you—you can cable.”
“You live on Andros Island?”
“I have fruit lands there and sisal.”
“I’m sure I’m obliged,” began Andy. “It’s good of you. I haven’t any money.”
The man laughed.
“I shall be delighted to have you as my guest,” he said, still smiling. “And if you are in a hurry, I’ll take you over to-night.”
“I’m not in a hurry to leave this,” began Andy, sweeping his arm about to include the cameo-like bay. “But you can understand: I hadn’t permission to come, and, if I had, I suppose my parents would be worrying until they heard from me.”
“Not unlikely,” said the man in white. “I think you ought to go at once, or send word. Any little excitement of this kind is enjoyable. If you don’t mind, I’d like to have a look at your flying machine—I’ve never seen one, as you can imagine. I rarely go even to Nassau—lived on Andros twenty years.”