He came back after a while with the violin. “After what Ted did for us today,” he confided, “I couldn’t leave it.” And they paddled away toward the middle island.
“That Ted must be a real guy,” was Stew’s comment.
“You don’t know the half of it. I’ll tell you about it some time.” Jack settled back against the circular side of the raft. “Boy! Am I tired!”
“Take it easy,” Stew advised.
“We’ll have to paddle ten miles at least. A Jap plane may spot us on the way.”
“We don’t really need to paddle at all,” Stew said. “There’s a strong current running toward the islands.”
“How do you know?” Jack sat up.
“While you went back for the violin I threw a stick into the water. It started right for the island.”
“That,” said Jack, “was my whittling stick.”
“Too bad!” Stew said. “But then, there must be a million sticks on our island. Seems to be covered with trees.”