WE SEE A SAIL
Now after that last chapter are supposed to come about ten chapters
where we don’t do anything except just be hungry. But believe me, that’s
enough. We just sat there swinging our legs from the railing of that
desert island, scanning the horizon for a sail.
I said, “I wonder if there’s any treasure buried on this desert island.
Maybe Captain Kidd secreted some Liberty Bonds here; maybe he hid some
bars of gold.”
“I wish he had left some bars of chocolate here,” Warde said.
“Or some small change, chicken feed, or anything we could eat,” Garry
put in. “I’d be glad to eat a bale of hay or shredded wheat or a
whisk-broom or anything else like that.”
“They’re just about getting ready to cook supper at Temple Camp now,”
Warde said; “Chocolate Drop* is just about beginning to peel potatoes.
Pretty soon he’ll be stirring up batter for cookies. I think they’re
going to have strawberry jam and crullers to-night and—and cheese
and—lemon pie. They’ll be having baked beans to-night, too, on account
of it being Saturday. Oh boy, I can just see that nice slice of brown
pork on top——”
“Will you keep still!” Pee-wee screamed.
“Sure,” said Hervey; “whatever it is, let’s do it. If we’re going to
starve let’s get some fun out of it. I bet I can beat anybody starving.”
I said, “Pee-wee can beat you at that with both hands tied behind him,
can’t you, Kid? Once I read about some men who were going to freeze to
death in an ice cream freezer or somewhere; maybe it was up at the North
Pole. So they wrote a note and stuck it up on a pole, maybe they stuck
it on the North Pole, and they told what had become of them and how they
had died a terrible death so that the world may be able to know about
it. So let’s write a note and say that we starved here because we
couldn’t cook a fish and that we hope our parents will take a lesson
from us and not go round so much when they grow up. I was always wild, I
used to ride on a runaway clotheshorse when I was a kid.”
“You’re a kid now,” our young hero shouted. “You think it’s funny, don’t
you?”
“I know which is north and which is south,” I said, very sarcastic, “and
anyway, I stay awake while I’m turning around. Do you think Cruson
Robsoe got mad just because he was on a desert island? All he had was a
footprint in the sand and we’ve got a fish—to look at. Isn’t he pretty?
I bet there’s nice white meat inside of him, and a lot of bones. I
wonder if he has a funny-bone? As long as we can’t get away from here
let’s each tell our favorite dessert. I say let’s die bravely, like boy
scouts, hungry to the end.”
All of a sudden, _good night_, Garry nearly fell off the railing; he was
waving his hands and shouting, “A sail! A sail!”
“What kind of a sale?” Bert asked him. “A special sale or a cake sale or
what? If it’s a cake sale lead me to it.”
Garry just kept shouting, “A sail! A sail! A sail on the horizon!”
“I don’t see any horizon,” I said. “Where is it?”
“Along there through the woods,” he said. “A sail! A sail! We are
shaved!”
“What are you shouting about?” I said. “That isn’t a sail, it’s a Ford
car! Hurrah! Hurrah! And a couple of hips!”
-----
* The darky cook at Temple Camp.