“Same here,” came from Phil.
“Then I suppose I’ve got to,” groaned Tom, and in the end he did. Then, with the fussy, little alarmer quiet, the chums dropped off, their thoughts lasting longest on the prospective races, and on the queer muddle of the lost trophies.
“Well, here’s where the boat was,” said Tom, as they landed on Crest Island the next afternoon.
“But it’s gone now,” added Phil.
“Yes, probably Mr. Farson had it towed away on a barge to see if he could save any of it. My opinion is that it wasn’t worth it,” said Sid.
“Well, let’s scatter, two going down one shore of the island, and two on the other,” suggested Frank. “When the boat struck on the rocks, and split, the things in the lockers may have floated one way or the other.”
“If they didn’t sink,” put in Tom. “A box of jewelry would be pretty heavy.”
“If it sank, so much the better,” declared the Big Californian. “Then it would lodge, and when the waters went down, as they did after the flood, it would still stay there. Scatter and hunt.”
They took his advice, and for an hour or more searched. Then Tom, who was with Frank, on the eastern shore, sprang toward a clump of bushes in which was caught some driftwood.
“I’ve found something!” he cried. “It looks like the seat lockers of a motor-boat.”