“Because with the wind as it is now we’d miss the island by a half-mile and keep on going all day, I guess. And we’d be pretty hot and miserable in that open launch with the sun beating down on us for six or eight hours. We’re better off here in the shade.”
There wasn’t much said for the next half-hour or so. Jack kept up his look-out, but nothing approached the island. Hal went to sleep and Bee closed his eyes and tried to follow suit. He had almost succeeded when Jack’s voice roused him.
“There’s a fellow in a dory making across from Eight-Fathom Cove,” said Jack eagerly. “He was going along shore at first, but now he’s turned and is headed straight this way. It looks as though he had seen our signal.”
Bee had to have the dory pointed out to him, since the sunlight on the water dazzled his eyes. Then for a long time they watched the approach of the boat, without awakening Hal, each moment fearing to see the rower change his course. “He must be coming here, though,” Jack murmured half aloud. “There aren’t any traps out that far, and no nets. Maybe he’s coming out this way to fish. Let’s get up on the roof and wave, Bee. We’ll take turns, though. I’ll go first.”
So Bee gave him a leg-up and he scrambled to the top of the hut and became a human semaphore. Finally, just when his arms were getting thoroughly tired out, the single occupant of the dory, which was not a half-mile or so distant, took off his hat and waved back.
“He sees us!” cried Jack. “It’s all right, Bee. Here, I’ll take Hal’s shirt down. Wake him up and tell him to put it on. That chap will be here pretty soon.”
“What are you going to do when he gets here?” asked Hal, who, having been awakened and had the situation explained to him, was now sleepily struggling into his shirt. “I don’t suppose he’s got any gasoline with him.”
“Maybe he’s got some water, though,” said Bee, longingly.
“We can do either of two things,” replied Jack. “We can get into the dory, go ashore, get gasoline and come back here for the launch, or we can make a dicker with him to tow the launch across to the cove. I guess he will do it if we offer him some money.”
By this time the dory was only a little way off. It had been green at one time, but most of the paint had departed. The man at the oars presented to view a broad back clad in a blue gingham shirt. On his head, in spite of the heat, was a felt hat. Jack gazed puzzledly for a moment. Then,