"It may be only a sailor's yarn."
"It's all true, what I'm tellin' you, boss!" exclaimed the negro.
"Oh, I don't doubt your word," said Jack, quickly. "But let's get aboard the boat before we talk any further."
Aboard the Tartar, seated in her cozy cabin, the story of Slim Jim seemed to take on added significance. He told it, too, with a due regard for its importance—especially to him—in the matter of what money it might bring to him.
In brief, his "yarn" was about as I have indicated, in the brief talk with Jack. Jim and his mates had been on a protracted fishing trip, and had run short of water. One of the number knew of a lonely and uninhabited island near where they were then cruising—an island that contained a spring of good water.
They were headed for the place, but when they were about to land, they had been alarmed by the appearance of what at first was supposed to be some wild beast.
"He crawled on all fours, Missie," said Slim Jim, addressing Cora with such earnestness that she could not repress a shiver. "He crawled on all fours like some bloomin' beastie, begging your pardon, Missie. We was all fair scared, an' sheered orf."
"Then how did you get the cap?" asked Walter.
"He chucked the blessed cap to us, sir!" Jim appeared to have a different appellation for each member of the party. "Chucked it right into the water, sir. I picked it up."
"What else did he do?" asked Cora.