Then I reckon you won't go back oh a square meal?" laughed Fairwell.
"Indeed I won't!" put in Dan, bound to say something.
"We would like to get back to the mainland as soon as possible," went on Arnold Baxter. "I am from Chicago, and must attend to some banking matters. My name is Larson—Henry Larson of State Street."
"Well, Mr. Larson, we'll get you to the main shore as soon as we can; that is, providing the lady who has hired this sloop is willing to go on without stopping here. I reckon this young man is your friend?"
"He is my son. And you are—?"
"Randy Fairwell, at your service, sir. It's too bad you were wrecked, but you can be thankful your life was spared. Seen anybody around here since you've been ashore?"
"Not a soul."
"Nor any sail?"
"Nothing. It has been very, very lonesome," and Arnold Baxter shook his head hypocritically.
Tom and Sam listened to this talk with keen interest. Tom now nudged his brother.
"This has gone far enough," he whispered. "Those men seem all right and I'm sure will prove our friends. I'm going to show myself."
