Waring's reef was dry land at low tide, and even at high tide was close enough to the surface to support the trusty foundation of the fugitive isle. It stood exactly in the middle of the river at a spot where the stream was straight and comparatively wide, and commanded a fine view of the boat-house a mile or so downstream. There was more or less life down there during the ensuing week for the high school pupils made the place their own in the brief Easter vacation.
It was on Wednesday that a couple of high school boys chugged up in a little launch and were about to land when Pee-wee forbade them by turning the traffic sign upon them just as they were about to set foot on the island. The island had been on its good behavior now for four days and had not so much as turned an inch. It seemed to have found a satisfactory home at last.
"What do you call this thing, anyway?" one of the visitors asked.
"It's a desert island," said Pee-wee. "Can't you see what it is? Don't you know a desert island when you see one? Gee whiz, you're in high school, you ought to know a desert island when you see one. I know you," he added, addressing one of the visitors; "you're on the basket-ball team, your name is Chase, your first name is Wingate and you're all the time going around with Grove Bronson's sister and he's in the troop that I'm not in any more."
In the face of these unquestionable facts Wingate Chase was helpless; he could not do otherwise than admit his identity.
"We're going to have some events on Saturday," he said. "This fellow with me is from the Edgemere High School and——"
"He's going to get beaten," shouted Pee-wee; "because Bridgeboro High School can lick all the high schools around here, in athletics and debates and everything."
"That's all right, Kiddo," said the fellow from Edgemere High School.
"You bet it's all right," said Pee-wee.
"We were thinking we'd like to use your island," said Wingate Chase.