"What's he doing--posing for the movies?"
"He's semaphoring," Tom answered.
"I'll be jiggered if he isn't!" said Roy, all interest at once.
"C--O--M--E---- I--(he makes his I too much like his C)--N. _What do you
know about that!_ Come in!"
The stranger held what seemed to be a large white placard in either hand
in place of a flag and his motions were not as clear-cut as they should
have been, but to Roy, with whom, as he had often said, the semaphore
code was like "pumpkin pie," the message was plain.
As they ran alongside the wharf the khaki-clad signaler greeted them
with the scout salute.
"Pretty brisk out on the water this morning?" he said. "We got your
message--we were out canoeing last night; you use the International
code, don't you?"
"Have you got him?" Roy asked anxiously.
"Oh, yes, he's here; pulled in somewhere around midnight, I guess. He
stayed all night with one of our troop; he's up there now getting his
breakfast. Great kid, isn't he?" he laughed. "He was telling us about
rice cakes. We're kind of out of date up here, you know. I was a little
balled up on your spacing," he added as they went up the wharf. "I
haven't got the International down very good. Yes, we were drifting
around, a couple of us, telling Ford jokes, when you sprung it on us."
"Have you got the signaling badge?" said Roy.
"Oh, yes, I managed to pull that; I'm out for the star now."
"You'll get it," said Tom.
"Is the kid all right?" Roy asked.
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