Winthrope turned abruptly to the cocoanuts.
CHAPTER VII
AROUND THE HEADLAND
It was mid morning before Blake reappeared. He came from the mangrove swamp where it ran down into the sea. His trousers were smeared to the thigh with slimy mud; but as he approached, the drooping brim of his palm-leaf hat failed to hide his exultant expression.
“Come on!” he called. “I’ve struck it. We’ll be over in half an hour.”
“How’s that?” asked Winthrope.
“Bar,” answered Blake, hurrying forward. “Sling on your hats, and get into my coat again, Miss Jenny. The sun’s hot as yesterday. How about the nuts?”
“Here they are. Three strings; all that I fancied we could carry,” explained Winthrope.
“All right. The big one is mine, I suppose. I’ll take two. We’ll leave the other. Lean on me, if your ankle is still weak.”
“Thanks; I can make it alone. But must we go through mud like that?”