“Excuse me for remarkin’,” says I; “but, while I wouldn’t be strong for this sort of excursion as a general thing, with just you and me on the passenger list I don’t care if—­”

“Blow the horn,” cuts in Vee.

Yep, I blew.  Over miles and miles of glassy water I blew it, listenin’ every now and then for an answer.  All I raised, though, was a bird squawk or so; and once we scared up a flock of white herons that sailed off like so many ghosts.  Another time some big black things rolled out of the way almost alongside.

“What’s them—­whales?” I gasps.

“Porpoises,” says Vee.  “Keep on blowing.”

“I’ll be qualified as captain of a fish wagon before I’m through,” says I.  “Looks like that explorin’ trio had gone and lost themselves for fair, don’t it?”

“They must be somewhere among these islands,” says Vee.  “They couldn’t have gone out on the Gulf, could they?”

We asked each other a lot of questions that neither one of us knew the answer to.  It sort of helped pass the time.  And we certainly did do a thorough job of paging, for we cruised in and out of every little cove, and around every point we came to; and I kept the horn goin’ until I was as shy on breath as a fat lady comin’ out of the subway.

It was while I was restin’ a bit that I got to explorin’ one of the boat lockers, and dug up this Roman-candle affair that Vee said I might touch off.  And it hadn’t burned half way down before I spots an answerin’ glow ’way off to the left.

“We’ve raised someone, anyway,” says I.

“We’ll know who it is soon,” says Vee, turnin’ the wheel.

Five minutes later and we got a reply to our horn—­four long blasts.

“That means distress,” says Vee.  “Answer with three short ones.”

A mile or so further on, as we swings wide around the end of an island where a shoal sticks out, we comes in sight of this big motor-boat lyin’ quiet a couple of hundred feet off-shore with three people in it.

“There they are, thank goodness!” says Vee, shuttin’ off the engine and lettin’ the boat drift in towards ’em slow.

“Hello, there!” I calls out.

“That you, Torchy?” asks Old Hickory, anxious.

“Yep!” says I.  “Me and Vee.”

“Bully for you youngsters!” says he.  “I might have known it would be you two who would find us.”

“Verona, I am astonished,” gasps Auntie.

“Yes, I thought you would be,” says Vee.  “What’s the matter?”

“Matter!” snaps Auntie.  “We’re stuck in the mud, and have been for hours.  Look out or you’ll run aground, too.”

But our boat wasn’t half the size of theirs, and by polin’ careful we got alongside.

My first move is to reach a handful of cigars to the boss.

“Heaven be praised!” says he, lightin’ one up eager.

Meanwhile Vee is pourin’ out some hot coffee from the picnic bottles.  That and the sandwiches seemed to sort of soothe things all around, and we got a sketch of their troubles.