“What time is it, Frank?” asked Bluff finally.

“Oh, about three, I should say.  Time has slipped away, you know.”

“What!  And nobody ever thought of eating a bite about noon?” exclaimed Jerry.

“Eating!”

Bluff uttered only the one word, but his horrified expression struck Frank as being so comical that he roared with laughter.

“I give you my word, fellows, that this is the very first time since I’ve known Bluff that the idea of a meal seemed repulsive to him,” he declared.

“Please don’t, fellows!” came from Will, under the shelter; and in sympathy for him the subject was dropped then and there.

Jerry interested himself in keeping watch with Frank.  Between them they managed to decide just where the expected island held forth.  The course was altered enough to bring them closer, yet at the same time avoid falling in the trough of the great waves, that might have capsized the motor-boat, once they got a fair sweep at her, broadside on.

“It’s the island, all right!” exclaimed Bluff presently, as they drew nearer.

“And we will have to take some chances in getting back of the shelter.  You see how the wind blows, and the waves run.  Now, please don’t bother me.  It will require some close calculating to just scrape in without a disaster.”

Frank set himself to the task.  Mentally, he hoped most fervently that the motor would not take a notion to act contrary just when so much depended on its stability and faithfulness.

Gradually the island began to stand out more distinctly, on their right.

“We’re making it, I do believe!” yelled Bluff.

“Why, sure; and the water is getting less rocky already,” declared Jerry.

“There you go, copying Frank’s salty ways.  But I’m not going to dispute it now.  I’m only too glad of the chance of resting on smooth water again, whether it happens to be dusty or rocky,” avowed Bluff, looking cheerful again.

Even poor Will managed to drag himself out from his shelter to take a dismal, though eager, look.  He had the appearance of one who had passed through a long siege of illness, such is the rapidity with which this dreadful malady downs its victims.

“There’s one boat already anchored behind the island further on,” remarked Jerry.

“I was looking at that fellow,” remarked Frank, “and unless I’m mistaken, that’s the identical sharpie which came so close to running us down in the fog a little while back.”

“You don’t say!” exclaimed Will, beginning to grow interested.

It is wonderful how quickly one recovers from an attack of this sort when smoother water is reached.  Will was commencing to lose a little of his ghastly whiteness already, while Bluff had started to sigh, as though he thought of supper.

After they had found a safe asylum behind the island Frank thought it best to anchor.  He did not care to go too near that sharpie, for the recollection of the three rough spongers or fishermen on board deterred him from wanting to renew their acquaintance.