"Good!" shouted Frank. "I never was so hungry before in my life. Now if we could only make a fire!"
But that was out of the question. Every bit of driftwood, of which there was a big supply, was soaking wet. The boys had plenty of matches, in waterproof boxes, but they would be useless until some dry fuel was available.
"Well, it can't be helped," said Andy, as he proceeded to open a tin of corned beef. "We ought to be thankful for this. Open that tin box of crackers. Luckily they're not wet. We can make a meal off this, and we'll have a cooked dinner. I wonder—why—blub—ugh—that man—um—lum—didn't—"
"Oh, don't try to talk and eat at the same time," requested Frank with a laugh—the first since their adventure in the cave. "Take your time." For Andy was fairly devouring the corned beef.
"Hum! I guess you can't be very hungry, or you wouldn't take your time," retorted the younger lad. "Hurry up with those crackers. And there's some jam, somewhere. Oh, for a cup of hot coffee."
"Cheese it!" cried Frank sharply. "Do you want to make me throw something at you? But what were you trying to say when you had your mouth full a while ago?"
"I said it was a wonder that man didn't take this grub with him when he took our boat and the Gull."
"I don't know. Maybe he couldn't find the food. But what makes you think he took our boats?"
"They're gone; aren't they?"
"Yes, but I think the tide carried away the small boat. The waves came up unusually high, as you can see by the marks in the sand. We didn't pull the skiff up far enough."