"TO-MORROW IS THE DAY!"
And then it was that Jerry saw that the temporary clearing of the
mystery only made things darker than ever. For, why should Tod be
rescued in this weird fashion? Why had the man refused to let Tod's
friends come on the island? And why, why had Mr. Fulton laughed at
Jerry's story--and yet followed his clue in this stealthy way? Jerry,
up to his nose in the water, and deeper than that in perplexity, saw
that the whole affair was really no longer the mystery of Tod Fulton's
disappearance, but the mystery of Lost Island.
So, although he now felt safe from bodily harm, because of Mr. Fulton's
presence, he made no sign, but waited there a scant dozen feet beyond
the stern of the boat. He heard Tod answer a few low-toned questions of
his father, but could not make out either question or answer. He saw
Mr. Fulton pick up the oars and poise them for a sweep, dropping the
blades into the water to exchange a last sentence with the shadow who
stood waiting on the bank.
"Everything all right, then, Billings!"
"Varnish on the left plane cracked pretty badly, Mr. Fulton. I had to
scrape it off and refinish it. It really ought to have another day to
dry."
Jerry repeated, puzzled, to himself: "Left plane--what in thunder's
that?"
Billings went on:
"You won't forget to bring the timer. Elizabeth will get it at the
usual place if you can leave it by noon."
"It'll be there, Billings."
Not a word more was said as the boat was swung about and headed out
into the stream, save that Mr. Fulton chuckled:
"Old Billings rather had you worried, eh, son, until he gave you my
message?"
Tod laughed, so heartily that Jerry, who had watched his chance to cut
out into the wake of the boat and hold on behind with one hand, could
not himself forbear a little happy ripple.
"What was that?" exclaimed Mr. Fulton, a full minute after.
"I don't know," answered Tod. "I was waiting for it to come again.
Sounded like--only _he_ couldn't be here."
"Who couldn't?"
"It sounded like a laugh--and there's only one person, outside of a
billygoat, who's got a gurgle like that."
"Your wetting didn't tame you down any, did it? Who's the goat you had
in mind?"
"Jerry King--_well_, what in the world!"
Over the back of the boat clambered a dripping, wrathful figure.
"I'll be switched if I'm going to be dragged along at the tail of this
scow and be insulted any longer. I laugh like a billygoat, do I? For
two cents I'd scuttle the ship!"
But Jerry's anger was more put on than real, and under Mr. Fulton's
banter and Tod's grateful appreciation of the attempted rescue, he soon
calmed down.
"What was the matter with you back there on the island? We heard you
groaning as if you'd green-appled yourself double."
"Groaning? Me groaning? Huh! Say, next time you go bearding damsels in
distress and rescuing castaway fishermen, you learn how to tell the
difference between a bulldog who's whining to get out and get at you,
and a wounded hero. It's a good thing you didn't have a chance to
follow up that 'groan'--you'd have _groan_ wiser."
"One more like that, Tod," suggested Mr. Fulton wearily, "and I think
I'll take a hand myself."
"But why," Jerry wanted to know, "didn't you come back home right
away--if you weren't hurt?"
"Oh, but I was. You try going over that dam once and see if your
insides-out don't get pretty well mixed up. I got a terrific thump on
the back of the head when the boat turned turtle, and if I hadn't had a
leg under the seat, I'd be in Davy Jones' locker right now. When I came
to I didn't know whether I was me or the boat. I had gallons of water
in me and--and I think I swallowed a worm or two; the bait can got
tipped over--and all the worms were gone--somewhere."
"But why did you stay----" Jerry began, feeling vaguely that Tod was
talking so much to keep him from asking questions. But he was not
allowed even to ask this one, for Mr. Fulton interrupted with:
"I got busy right away after you had told me about your Lost Island
clue, and soon got a message through to--to Mr. Billings there. When he
told me Tod was safe and sound, I thought I'd wait until I had finished
some important business I just couldn't leave. That's how it was so
late before I got here."
"Mr. Billings came and got you, didn't he?" remarked Jerry, trying to
keep the suspicion out of his voice. If they had a secret that was none
of his business, _he_ wouldn't pry.
"Yes," said Mr. Fulton, and made no further explanation.
"But there were two of you on the island after me, weren't there? Who
was the other hero?" Tod wanted to know.
"Where were you, that you knew there were two of us?"
"I was all doubled up in that little anteroom where the dog
was--doubled up laughing." Then he added hastily, thinking he had
teased poor Jerry far enough: "But I was locked in."
"Why locked in, if Mr. Billings had gone to bring your father? Afraid
you'd up and rescue yourself?" Jerry's tone was downright sarcastic.
"No, Jerry--you see, the island--that is," looking toward Mr. Fulton as
if for permission to go on, "that is, there's something going on on
Lost Island that Mr. Billings figures isn't anybody else's business,
and he didn't want to take chances of my nosing around."
"I see," said Jerry dryly. "So of course rather than row you across to
dry land himself he brought your father here to get you. It's all as
plain as the wart on a pumpkinhead's nose!"
"Now, Jerry, you're getting way up in the air without any cause. I'll
tell you this much, because I think you've got a right to know: Mr.
Billing's secret really is mine. Just as soon as I dare I'll tell you
all about it. But what became of your friend--if there _were_ two of
you?"
"I was so peeved that I forgot all about Phil. It's Phil Fulton----"
"What!" cried Tod. "Cousin Phil. Where is he?"
"Standing on the bank just opposite Lost Island and figuring out how
soon he ought to give me up for drowned or hand-axed by a savage
female. He may have gone for the sheriff by this time--or the coroner.
Better take me to shore here and I'll go back."
Mr. Fulton began pulling the boat toward shore. "How did he happen to
get into this?" he asked.
Jerry told him the whole story of the encounter with the Boy Scouts.
"They've pitched camp there, so I guess I'll see if they can dry me out
and put me up for the night," he finished.
As the boat neared shore Tod began to show signs of suppressed
excitement. Finally, as Jerry was about to jump out into the shallow
water, being already soaked through, Tod began coaxingly:
"Why couldn't I go on with Jerry, dad? You told me you'd let me go
camping with the bunch, don't you remember? And I promised Phil I'd
show him the best bass lake in the country----"
"I ought to take you back to town and let Doc Burgess look you over.
Maybe the bones are pressing on your brain where you bumped your head.
You act like it. But the fact is I _didn't_ want to go back to
Watertown--I ought to chase right down to Chester for that timer. It
was promised for to-morrow, and there isn't a minute to be lost. There
aren't any falls down this way, are there?" he asked with mock
seriousness.
"Come on, dad, say I can go!" begged Tod.
"We-l-l," hesitated Mr. Fulton, "suppose we say I'll let you stay till
morning--or night, rather. Then we'll see."
Jerry jumped out at this point and splashed his way to shore. He had a
feeling that the two might want to talk without being overheard.
Apparently he was right, as for a good five minutes the two conversed
in low tones. Jerry tried his best not to hear what was said, but every
now and then a sentence reached his ears. But it was so much Greek as
far as he was concerned.
He had walked inland a bit, finally striking the narrow path that
fishermen had cut along the top of the high bank. It swung back toward
the edge, cut off from view by a rank growth of willows. He noticed
that the boat had drifted downstream until it now stood almost opposite
him, and only a few feet from shore. Thus it was that, as Mr. Fulton
backed water with his left-hand oar and rammed the nose of the boat
toward the shelving beach, he heard one complete sentence, distinct and
understandable.
"It's up to you, Tod, to get them away. We can't afford any
complications at this stage of the game. To-morrow is the day!"
"Trust me, dad!" exclaimed Tod, going up and giving his father's
shoulder a squeeze. Jerry waited for no more. Bending low, he scurried
far down the path, so that Tod could have no suspicion that his chum
had overheard.
"Are you coming?" he shouted when he felt that he had gone far enough.
"Hold up a second and I'll be with you. Good night, dad."
"Good night, Mr. Fulton," shouted Jerry in turn, then waited for Tod.
The journey to the Boy Scout camp was made in silence, for Jerry did
not feel that he dared ask any more questions, and Tod volunteered no
further explanation. Just outside the ring of light cast by the
deserted camp fire, however, Jerry halted and asked:
"Thought what you'll tell _them?_"
"Why, no. Just what I told you, Jerry."
"You can't--unless you tell them more. They'd never be satisfied with
_that_."
"I'm sorry, Jerry. I'd like to tell you the whole yarn, but--but you
see how it is."
"I don't but I guess I can wait. Only I do think you ought to have
something cooked up that would stop their questions. Will you leave it
to me?"
"Surest thing you know. What'll you say?"
"That's my secret. You play up to my leads, that's all you've got to
do. _Hello_, bunch!" he shouted.
"Wow! Hooray! There he is!" came cries of delight from the darkness in
the direction of the river, and a moment later the boys, who had been
almost frantic with worry over the non-appearance of Jerry, came
trooping up. When they found Tod with him, their joy was unbounded.
Their excited questions and exclamations of surprise gave Jerry a
much-needed instant in which to collect his story-inventing wits. At
last Phil quieted down his dancing mob and put the question Jerry had
been awaiting:
"How did you do it?"
"That's the funny part of it. I didn't. Tod's dad came along and did it
for me."
"I hope he beat up that old grouch----"
"Huh, you got another guess coming. They're old friends----yes," as a
cry of unbelief went up, "that's why Tod was in no hurry to be rescued.
His name's Billings, and Mr. Fulton used to be in business with him. Is
yet, isn't he, Tod?"
"Uhuh--I think so."
"Well, you may know there's fish around Lost Island. Billings is what I
call a fish hog. He don't want anybody to know about the place--wants
it all for himself. Tod drifts onto the island and the man can't very
well throw _him_ off, half drowned as he is. Then, when he gets the
water out of Tod, all but his brain, he finds it's the son of his
partner, and he can't very well throw him off _then_. There's a girl on
that mound out there, and she comes in with a string of the biggest
fish you ever saw. You couldn't drive Tod off with a club after that.
After the fish, I mean, not the girl. He gets a message to his father,
and makes his plans to stay there all summer, but dad comes down
to-night and spoils his plans by dragging him off. He kind of thinks he
doesn't want all the fish dragged out by the tails--he likes to hook a
few big ones himself. I'd got out into the middle of the Plum when I
heard the sound of prodigious weeping--it was Tod, saying a last
farewell to the big fishes--and the little girl.
"So I swam back. And here he is and here I am, and we're both pledged
not to go back on Lost Island."
"Righto!" cried Tod, in great relief, Jerry could plainly see. "And dad
asked me to coax you chaps to keep away from old Billings--he's a
regular bear, anyway. But to make up for that, to-morrow I'm going to
take you to the swellest pickerel lake you ever laid eyes on."
"You mean _bass_ lake, don't you?" asked Jerry maliciously.
"Pickerel and bass," agreed Tod without an instant's hesitation. "Let's
turn in; we want to make an early start."
It was late, however, before the camp was finally quiet, for someone
started a story, and that brought on another and another, till half of
the Scouts fell asleep sitting bolt upright.
But as one lone boy, the last awake, rolled near the fire in his
borrowed blanket, he chuckled knowingly to himself and said:
"Foxy old Tod! Dad sure can 'trust' him. But I'm just going to be
curious enough to block his little game so far as I'm concerned. _I'm_
going to stick around!"