“Thanks,” said Roy. “Much obliged, Harry.” Chub, who had opened his mouth, shut it again and looked disgustedly at Roy. He was silent a moment, while the others watched him amusedly, then: “I know a good English conundrum about a lobster,” he announced gravely. “All right,” said Dick. “Out with it; get it off your mind.” “Why is Roy like a lobster?” “Why _is_ he a lobster, you mean, don’t you?” “No, that’s beyond explaining. I mean why is he like a lobster?” “Is there any known answer?” scoffed Roy, “or is it like most of your conundrums?” “There’s a very excellent answer,” replied Chub with dignity, as he stole Dick’s slice of bread undetected. “The answer is: because he is selfish.” “Selfish? I don’t see--” began Dick. “Oh, shell-fish!” cried Harry. “Don’t you see? Selfish--shell-fish. That’s it, isn’t it, Chub?” “Yes, that’s it; good, isn’t it?” “About the poorest I ever heard,” said Roy. “Shell-fish!” “It’s an English conundrum,” answered Chub, calmly. “It sounds like one,” Dick agreed. “Yes, if you drop the h it’s all right!” “O-oh!” cried the others in chorus. Chub bowed modestly. “I’d like another egg, please,” he said. “Well, you don’t deserve it,” said Roy. “But I’ll give you Harry’s.” “I’ll compromise on half.” “Here, I’ll cook another,” said Dick, but Chub and Roy decided that half an egg would be all they could eat with comfort. After breakfast it was decided that they were to walk around the island, or, in the words of Harry, explore their domain. “I tell you what we ought to do,” said Roy. “We ought to make a map of it, showing all the bays and peninsulas and--and--” “Rivers,” suggested Chub. “Who’s going to do it?” “I will,” Roy answered. “Where can I get a piece of paper?” “There’s a tablet in my suit case that I brought along to write letters on,” said Dick. “Will that do?” “Have to,” Roy replied. “Can I find it?” “Sure. Pull things out until you reach it. It’s there somewhere. Where’s Snip got to, Harry?” “Oh, he’s around somewhere,” Chub answered. “I heard him barking like anything awhile ago. Probably he’s caught a bear.” “Yes, a Teddy bear,” said Dick. “Here, Snip! Here, Snip!” “I hope it’s a white one,” laughed Harry; “I like them better than the brown ones, don’t you?” “Yes, the cinnamon gets up my nose,” Chub assured them. “Here he comes, with his tongue hanging out so far that he’s stepping on it! What did you find, Snipper-Snapper?” “That’s not his name, Chub Eaton,” Harry remonstrated. “His name’s Darlingest Snip.” “Well, come on, Darlingest Snip,” said Chub as Roy joined them; “but you must behave yourself and not kill any more bears. If you do you’ll be arrested for violation of the game laws of Fox Island.” They set off along Inner Beach, pausing every minute or so while Roy made marks on the tablet. “Of course,” he explained, apologetically, “this will be only a rough map, you know.” Chub sniffed but forebore to make any comment.