CHAPTER X
FISHASHKI
A FEW days after the picnic on Hy Brasail, Joan and Elspeth were sitting on the bench beside those flower-boxes that Jim called "the informal garden." They were reading to each other by turns and casting an eye occasionally upon Garth, who was engaged in dabbling after bait-crabs among the pools. The book proved so absorbing that they did not see the approach of a very new and much-varnished motorboat until it had gone foul of the dory's moorings, run into the landing, and expired with a final snort against the rocks.
"He oughtn't to be out in a boat alone, if that's the best he can do!" Elspeth commented. "Who can it be?"
The occupant of the launch picked himself out of the engine, looked ruefully at his once immaculate white flannels, and climbed out upon the pier.
"Gracious," whispered Joan, "it's Fishashki!"
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