“Only the trouble is we’re marooned on a desert island,” I said. “Anyway there’s one thing I like and that is adventure. I was always crazy to starve on a desert island.”
“You don’t have to tell us you’re crazy,” Pee-wee said.
“We followed you back to the sign post,” I told him, “and you promised to cook us a fish. Let’s see you do it. A scout’s honor is to be trusted, he’s supposed to keep his word—scout law number forty-eleven.”
“How about diving?” Hervey asked. “It’s the only way to get into the water; there isn’t any way to climb down off this thing; the underneath part of it is way inside.”
“Where did you expect it to be? Up in the air?” I asked him. “The underneath part is usually underneath.”
“Not always,” Bert said.
“Well, anyway,” I said, “I’m not going to risk my life diving into water that I don’t know anything about. Suppose I should break my skull; what good would a fish dinner be to me?”
“That’s a good argument,” Garry said.
“It’s a peach of an argument,” I told him.
“It’s what Pee-wee calls logic. Gee whiz, but I’m hungry.”