"I had always looked on the island," he said, smiling, "as the only spot in England where a twentieth-century Robinson Crusoe could find a sanctuary from the world, and, by the courtesy of the gentleman who owned the place, I was able to purchase it at a ridiculously low price. As a matter of fact, he was offered twice the amount quoted to me, but refused because I was a disabled Tommy. We came here strangers, but really the kindness of every one is so great that the ordeal is turning into a privilege. You have no idea, Pest, how extraordinarily sympathetic and courteous these people are." "I suppose, though," I said softly, "that it is rather--lonely." "Lonely?" he laughed. "Bless your heart, old boy! talk about a French savant and his _salon_--this place is a positive Mecca for all the distinguished pilgrims on the island. For instance, there is the editor of the _Tribune_--a man who thinks editorially and talks colossally. He claims that any one who has read Boswell's _Life of Johnson_, Cervantes' _Don Quixote_, and Carlyle's _French Revolution_ is educated. He never reads anything else, but keeps on reading these three in an endless cycle. We have perfectly stupendous arguments that never get anywhere, but utterly exhaust both of us. Then there's the station-master. How many passengers boarded the train here when you were coming off?" "Four, I think." "Ah, yes; this is Saturday--a busy day. Some trains we don't get any, and others just one or two; but in anticipation of a rush at some future date, he's invented a scheme of getting tickets out of a drawer, stamped and all complete, by merely pressing a button. I assure you it's going to revolutionize the booking systems of the world--we've been working on it for weeks, but so far all we've got is the button. The plans are prodigious, though. And the Tommies! Gor blime, Pest! there's a convalescent home just down the road, and it's a queer day that at least two of the beggars don't come up for a 'jaw' about old times. You talk about your officers' messes and brass hats; why, it's real life in the ranks. I tell you, Pest, I would rather be the man that coined the word 'Cheerio' than the greatest general the world has seen." A merchant-ship, still wearing its strange motley of camouflage, sailed past only a couple of miles from shore. "Look!" whispered Norman, and pointed down the garden. Sindbad was crouched behind some bushes, surveying the vessel through a dilapidated telescope. After a careful scrutiny, he resumed his labors, shaking his head and muttering darkly to himself. Norman chuckled hilariously. "He's on the look-out for Spaniards," he said. "What a villainous telescope!" "Isn't it? He always has it by him, though. I'll swear you can't see half-a-mile with the blessed thing."