A Sailor Boy with Dewey. Stratemeyer Edward

a feller had to do it, he could be afther makin' step-ladders of the voines," grinned Gory.

      Noon found us at the topmost point, at a spot where a bit of table land was surrounded by a score of stately palms many yards in height. "We can't see much after all, not unless we climb a tree," I observed disappointedly. "And how we are going to get to the top of one of those palms is a conundrum to me."

      "I'll show you a native trick," answered Tom Dawson, and cast around for a suitable vine. Soon one was found, and he cut off a piece several yards long. Throwing this around a tree trunk, he twisted the ends about his hands and then began to ascend by bracing his feet against the trunk one after another, at the same time leaning his weight back so that it was held by the vine, which was slipped up in company with each footstep.

      "Yez ought to introduce that sthoyle in Americky, among the telephone linemen," observed Gory, with a twinkle in his eye. "Oi only trust the vine proves sthrong enough to hold yez until yez reach the top."

      Gory's hope was fulfilled; indeed the bit of green would have held the weight of a dozen ​men, and once the branches of the palm were gained, the first mate of the Dart found it an easy matter to reach the crown of the tree. From this point a wide expanse of land and sea came into view, and he scrutinized every point of the compass with care.

      "There is a native village to the northeast of here," he announced. "I can see forty or fifty bamboo huts and the smoke from several fires. There is a road running from the village to a river which winds in behind the mountain back of us."

      "And what can you see down to the beach?" I called up.

      "Nothing to the south of us." Tom Dawson turned to look up the coast. "By ginger!" we heard him exclaim, in a low voice.

      "Phat now?" queried Matt Gory.

      "I see—yes, it is—the wreck of the Dart, cast up high and dry on the shore!"