“But, Mr. Blake, I am sure papa will offer a large reward when the steamer is reported as lost. There will be ships searching for us–”
“We’re not in the British Channel, and I’ll bet what few boats do coast along here don’t nose about much among these coral reefs.”
“I fancy it would do no harm to erect a signal,” said Winthrope.
“Only thing that would make a show is Miss Leslie’s skirt,” replied Blake.
“There is the big leopard skin,” persisted Winthrope. To his surprise the engineer took the suggestion under serious consideration.
“Well, I don’t know,” he said. “If we had a water background, now. But against the rock and trees,–no; what we want is white. I’ll tell you–when Miss Jenny sets to and makes herself a dress of that skin, I’ll fly her skirt to the zephyrs.”
“Mr. Blake! I really think that is cruel of you!”
“Oh, come now; that’s not fair! I wouldn’t have said a word, but you said you wanted to help.”
“I beg your pardon, Mr. Blake. I–I did not quite understand you. I really do want to help–to do my share–”
“Now you’re talking! You see, it’s not only a question of the signal, but of clothes. We’ve got to figure anyway on needing new ones before long. Look at my pants and vest, and Win’s too. Inside a month we’ll all be in hide–or in hiding. That’s a joke, Win, me b’y; see?”