“We should worry,” said Pee-wee.

“Oh, we’re not going to worry,” said Townsend.

“You said it,” vociferated Pee-wee.  “Do you know why I like you?  Because you’re—­you know—­you’re kind of—­sort of——­”

“Absolutely,” said Townsend.  “You read me like a book.”

“This is better than books,” said Pee-wee, “because this is a kind of a desert island and a ship, isn’t it?  So will you all stay here till I get back, because I’m going to get my tent and some eats and a lot of stuff for camping and then we’ll start our patrol.”

“I can’t say that we’ll stay here,” said Townsend, “but we’ll stick to the island.  I have a hunch that this island is going to put one over on us.  If we’re not here when you get back you’d better advertise in the ‘Lost and Found’ column of the Bridgeboro paper, ’Lost, one desert island.  Finder will be suitably rewarded upon returning same to the patent adjustable scouts——­’”

“Not adjustable—­combination,” Pee-wee corrected.  “Do you like roasted potatoes?  I know how to roast them.  And I’ll get some bacon, too; shall I?”

“Suppose you should be captured by your parents while you’re on the mainland,” Townsend inquired.

“Then I’ll send you a smoke signal,” Pee-wee said, “and you can come and talk to my mother, because she’ll be sure to listen to you because, anyway, you’ve got a lot of sense.”

“And several of us will canoe up to North Bridgeboro and get some stuff and tell our folks and we’ll be back in an hour because the tide’s starting to run up,” said a boy they called Billy.

“If you have any trouble with the folks just give me a smoke signal and I’ll canoe up,” drawled Townsend.

“Good old Rip,” chorused half a dozen voices.

The boy they called Billy turned to Pee-wee and whispered, “Don’t worry about your folks.  Old Rip makes a specialty of parents; they all eat out of his hands, fathers especially.  As soon as they see him they surrender.”

“I make a specialty of cooks,” Pee-wee said.  “Our cook gives me everything I want.  And anyway we couldn’t starve because scouts can’t starve; they can eat roots and herbs and things; I’ll show you.  Do you like chocolate marshmallows?  Even scouts can eat moss to keep from starving.  And they can’t get lost either—­I’ll show you how.”

Pee-wee decided to take one of the boys with him to prove to his mother that the island was inhabited, and two other boys started back up the river in the other canoe.  This left Townsend with two companions on the island.  He sat against the trunk of the tree, knees drawn up, philosophically scanning the shore and occasionally giving an expectant glance up the river for smoke signals.  He seemed resigned to a quiet expectancy that he would be summoned to intercede in one quarter or another.  He looked very whimsical and funny.

“I wonder if you have to crank this island or whether it has a self-starter,” he drawled in his amusing way.  “If they don’t get back by one or so, we’ll have to make some root sandwiches.  What do you say, Charlie!”