"But so do all of us. Only we don't know just
where the island is."
"Suppose Dudley had buffaloed Old Hickory into showin' him the map?"
"Well?" demands Vee.
"Wouldn't it be easy enough," I goes on, "if he had pals ashore, to
pass on the description, have them start out in a fast yacht from New
Orleans or Key West, and beat us to it?"
"But I don't see," says Vee, "how he could get word to them."
"Look!" says I, pointin' to the wireless gridiron over our heads.
"Where do you guess he is now?"
Vee shakes her head.
"Gettin' in his fine work with Meyers," says I. "He's been at it ever
since breakfast."
"Think of that!" says Vee. "And you believe he means to--"
"S-s-s-sh!" says I. "Someone might be rubberin'."
Does it work? Say, when I gets up to scout around, Rupert has
disappeared, and for the first time since we've been aboard be leaves
us alone for the rest of the forenoon. We didn't hate that exactly.
Vee reads some out of a book, draws sketches of me, and we has long
talks about--well, about a lot of things.
Anyway, I'm strong for this yacht-cruisin' stuff when there's no Rupert
interference. It's so sort of chummy. And with a girl like Vee, to
share it with--well, I don't care how long it lasts, that's all.
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