At this the Irishman took off the stovepipe, swung it into the air, and made them a profound bow.
"Sure, I am Pat Stoodles, grand muck-a-muck av this wild tribe av haythins, castaway sailor from th' bark Emma D., high lord av the island, and second cousin av the royal Emperor of Turkey, ha, ha!"
And he laughed long and loud, and then shook hands.
"Are you putting this on for the natives' benefit?" questioned Bob. "If you are, let me say they don't understand a word."
At once a frown crossed Pat Stoodles' face.
He was indeed a castaway, and a solitary life of several years had partly turned his brain.
When the savages had found him he had acted so strangely that they had fancied he was some inhabitant of the infernal region. At first they had wanted nothing to do with him, but they had ended by making him something of a chief. In their own language they called him the fun-making high lord.
Pat Stoodles listened to their talk with interest, but shook his head when they mentioned the Swallow.
"You are afther bein' mistaken about th' ship," he said. "No ship comes here. What looks loike a ship is a vision in th' heavens, nothin' more!" And he clenched his fists. He had looked so long for a sail when alone that the subject had turned his brain.
"Poor chap!" said Bob, in an undertone, "I don't believe he can help us much."