Shortly the logs were blazing on the wide kitchen hearth, and Tuckerman, finding a tin of coffee in a cupboard, was making a steaming drink. Tom in the meantime had brought an armful of Christopher Cotterell’s clothes from a room abovestairs, and the boys who had been in the water put on dry things.
“Well,” said Larry, when he was warm and dry, and had swallowed half-a-cupful of Tuckerman’s steaming hot coffee, “I knew this David fellow was a good sport when I tried to strike him out this afternoon; though I tell you it made me mad when he stung that ball for a homer.”
“Don’t mention it,” said David. “A fellow’s got to do his duty.”
“You do yours, all right,” nodded Larry. “I guess we’ll have to forgive him now, won’t we, Bill?”
Bill Crawford, the Amoussock captain, gave his knee a great slap. “We’ll have to elect him to the club of good scouts, Lanky. And the rest of this bunch, too.”
“Pass the coffee pot,” said David.
Stretched at his ease in a cane-bottomed kitchen chair, Larry’s eyes roved around the room. “I thought there wasn’t anybody on this island this summer,” he said. “That’s the story they tell at the camp.”
“Oh yes, it’s deserted,” said Ben, “except for Professor Tuckerman and his three able assistants.”
“What is the Professor doing here?” asked Bill Crawford.
There was a momentary silence, broken by Ben’s solemn voice. “He’s busy polishing up the knocker of the big front door. I don’t know whether you noticed it when you came in, but there is a beautiful knocker, made of pure brass. He shines it every day.”