If it was true she was crazy, the boys would make themselves objects of ridicule by interfering in her behalf. The situation was discussed, and they finally decided to continue on their course to the Thimbles. They steered for Pot Rock and the cove, where it was said Capt. Kidd had hidden his vessel, and near which, it was supposed, his treasure was buried. It was past three in the afternoon when they ran into the little steamboat dock. CHAPTER III. ON THE ISLAND. Under a tree they lunched, drank their beer and smoked cigars and cigarettes. They were jolly, seeming to have forgotten the adventure with the mysterious black schooner. Browning stretched his massive frame on the ground and puffed away in serene laziness. “I’d like to stay right here the rest of my life and do nothing but eat and drink and sleep,” he grunted. “You’d miss the ball games this spring,” said Diamond. “Go to!” said the big fellow. “What are the ball games? A lot of fellows get up and bat a ball around, while another lot of fellows chase it. They run and whoop and throw the ball and get covered with perspiration. It is a most distressing spectacle. Ball games, indeed! Go to, I say--go to!” “And the spring boat race--you’d miss that,” said Harry. “Another distressing spectacle. Nine men in a boat, eight of them working, working, working as if their lives depended on it. They strain every muscle, their faces are contorted with the agony of it, their eyes bulge with distress, their breasts heave as they try to breathe, and when the race is over some of them are like rags run through a wringer. Again I say, go to!” “But you used to be enthusiastic over such things. You played football yourself.” “Which goes to show what a fool a fellow can make of himself. Of all things football is the worst. That is a real battle for life between twenty-two mad and furious fools, every one of whom is thirsting for gore. They tear at one another, like famished wolves, buck one another, fling one another to the ground, jump on one another. Did I play football?” “Surely you did.” “It’s a far reach from such folly to the wisdom of to-day. Ten thousand dollars would not induce me to engage once again in a real game of football.” “But think of the excitement--the glory.” “The excitement is the delirium of fools. The glory--what is glory? How long does it last? Last fall, when Merry carried the ball over the line for a touchdown on Jarvis Field, with half the Harvard team on his back, he covered himself with glory. For a little time he was the talk of the college. His picture was in the papers. He was dined, and he would have been wined--that is, if he would have been. But now--now how is it? Spring has come, football is forgotten and his glory is fading. Everybody is talking of baseball and the way the nine will be made up.” “And you’ll find they are talking of Merry just the same,” declared Harry. “They haven’t forgotten that he twirls the sphere.”