“No, she was serious.”
“Well,” put in Tom Trent, “President Morgan may have more of a past than we thought for. I wonder if it’s because of his past that he is so anxious to get possession of this end of the island.”
Thirty minutes later Clem waved good-by to the young men as they disappeared into the ravine, and then she hastened down to where the ebbing tide was exposing the Gypsy foot by foot. Here she remained, engrossed with her plans, eagerly viewing each detail of the Gypsy as it came to light.
GypsyGypsyThe whistle of the Seattle boat sent her hastening to greet the repair man Mr. Morgan had promised to send. Clem introduced herself to the tall, sandy-haired man in working clothes who came down the gangplank with a box of tools in his arms.
“Name’s Hawkins,” he declared, as he
