By this time Hiram and Elmer had advanced to the spot. The man scanned them closely. He rubbed his head in a worried, uncertain sort of a way, as if figuring out something that puzzled him. Then he said, after a long pause:
“I was in hopes my beacon had called a ship. Seeing as it isn’t, I suppose there is no chance of my getting away from here?”
“Why not?” challenged Dave, encouragingly. “Did you ever ride in an airship, my friend?”
“No, never saw one. I’ve read about them and have seen pictures of them. To a regular tar, used to solid planks for nigh onto twenty years, those flimsy things don’t appeal, somehow.”
“That’s because you don’t know what real sailing is,” declared Hiram.
“Where is this new-fangled contrivance of yours?” inquired the man, looking into the sky and then all around the hill.
“Come with us and we’ll show it to you,” promised Dave.
“All right. Then I’ll show you my ship.”
“Oh, you have one?” inquired Elmer in surprise.
“What is left of the good old Flying Scud, yes,” answered the castaway, mournfully. “You see, friends, she must have struck a reef and sprung a leak. Anyhow, that dark, stormy night when I found myself drifting on her alone, I had to figure out that the captain had given her up as doomed. They had abandoned her in the long boat while I was asleep in the forecastle. Anyhow, when I came on deck, I found the ship deserted. Maybe the crew thought I had been swept overboard. Perhaps they couldn’t find me—you see, I’m so small,” concluded the speaker, plaintively.