decided on a course of action. He suggested that Van remain where he was. Lining the shore himself, Ralph kept well in the shelter of the shrubbery until he was directly opposite the spot where the object of his interest was at work.
He could not secure more than a general idea of what Ike was about unless he exposed himself to view. Ike seemed to be framing together a raft. He was very intent on his task—so much so, that when Ralph finally decided to show himself he was not aware of a visitor until Ralph stood directly at his side.
"How do you do, Slump?" spoke Ralph, as carelessly as though meeting him on the streets of Stanley Junction in an everyday recognition.
"Hi! who—smithereens! Stand back!"
Ike let out a whoop of amazement. He jumped back two feet. Then he stared at his visitor in a strained attitude, too overcome to speak coherently.
"Ralph Fairbanks!" he spluttered.
Ralph nodded pleasantly.
Ike grew more collected. He presented a wretched appearance. He was thin, hungry-looking, sullen of manner, and evidently dejected of spirit.
A sudden suspicion lit up his face as he glanced furtively into the shrubbery beyond his visitor,
