Trent grinned.
"It looks to me as though you'd just dropped from the clouds at the right time," he said. "By the way, how on earth did you come to fall overboard and not get picked up again?"
"It was after midnight and most of the hands were below," Keith said. "I was chiefly concerned about missing the propeller at the moment, and by the time I got my breath the ship was some distance off."
"You must have thought your number was up when they didn't hear you."
"I knew I had a sort of fighting chance to make one of these islands. Are most of them inhabited?" he asked easily, hoping to change the subject.
"Not by any manner of means," replied Trent, "though the niggers visit nearly all of them at times. Were you—were you the skipper?"
"No, mate," Keith replied briefly, not wishing to appear too blunt nor to create any undue mystery about himself.
"Well, you haven't brought much baggage along with you," Trent laughed. "I think I can fix you up though. You're welcome to any of my duds. They'll be a trifle small, but you mustn't mind that. There's nobody to criticise except Joan, and she's getting about accustomed to seeing me go round in old things. Come into my room and we'll see what there is."
