“Come on,” cried John excitedly. “Let’s get up there and see it.”

“How do you suppose he ever did it?” exclaimed Grant. “He’s a great one, all right.”

Scrambling and hustling up over the rocks George’s four companions vied with one another as to who should be the first to reach the cave. John’s long legs would ordinarily have won the race for him, but he was weakened by the effects of his experience in the water, and Grant outdistanced him. The rest were close behind, however, and all arrived almost together.

“Where did you get it, Pop?” demanded Grant eagerly.

“Oh, down at the other end of the island,” said George evasively.

His face was wreathed in smiles, however, and he was very proud of his exploit.

“I don’t see how you did it,” exclaimed Fred.

“I’m clever.”

“Don’t get funny,” warned Grant. “We’ll take it out of you if you get fresh.”

“You can’t touch me now,” said George loftily.

“What’s the reason we can’t?”

“Because if you do, I’ll–”

He did not finish the sentence. Instead he leaped to his feet and hanging on to one hand howled with pain. His friends, however, instead of sympathizing with him, all with one accord shrieked delightedly.

“Whew!” cried George feelingly. “He’s a good biter all right.”

“He,” in this case referred to a small green parrot which George had been holding in both hands. In some way it had wriggled loose from his grasp and twisting its head around had taken a good sized bit of flesh out of the back of his hand. This was the cause of George’s pain and his friends’ mirth.

“Put a muzzle on him, Pop,” advised Fred. “He’s dangerous.”

“He certainly is,” agreed George. “I’m afraid he’ll bite that string in half too.”

“How did you catch him?” inquired Grant curiously. “Did you put salt on his tail?”

George gave the speaker a scornful look. “I caught him,” he replied, “because he has a broken wing and can’t fly very well. It wasn’t any easy job, though.”

“How did he break his wing?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t ask him.”

“Say, you’re getting awfully fresh,” exclaimed Grant, pretending that he was angry. “Can’t you be serious and tell us how you caught him?”

“Certainly I can, I was walking down around the end of the island when I spied this fellow on the ground. I went up close to him and he just flopped up and down and evidently could use only one wing. I saw right away that it was broken and decided right there and then that he ought to belong to me. I chased him all around for I don’t know how long and finally I grabbed him by the tail feathers and hung on. It was no easy thing to do though and I can tell you I nearly gave it up any number of times. Just as I’d get up close to him and make a grab at him, he’d hop away and when I did catch him he tried his best to bite me. He’s got plenty of spunk all right,” and George looked ruefully at his bleeding hand.

“Are you going to tame him?” asked John.

“I’m going to do my best.”

“Do you think he’ll stay around here?”

“He will as long as he’s tied, that’s sure. I got that string off that old tarpaulin; you know the one we had in the life-boat when we left the Josephine.”

“You ought to clip his wings,” said Grant.

“I know it and I intend to, too. I was just waiting for some of you fellows to come back and help me. Where have you been anyway?”

The whole story of John and the shark was related to George, who was naturally very much interested in the account.

“I wish I’d been there to see it,” he exclaimed ruefully.

“No, you don’t either,” said Fred. “I saw it all, but I can tell you I didn’t enjoy the experience very much.”

“Nor I,” agreed Grant. “It was too harrowing for me.”

“I don’t suppose John had much fun either,” said George. “As far as I can see Sam was the only one who got any pleasure out of it at all.”

“How about that, Sam?” demanded Grant.

“Oh, Ah didn’t mind it so powerful much,” grinned Sam.

“Would you want to do it every day?”

“Ah cain’t say as how Ah would. One ob dem sha’ks might get me sometime.”

“Suppose the shark had swallowed John,” George remarked. “He’s so tall and skinny that he never could have gotten him down and there he’d stuck right in his throat. He’d been worse than Jonah and the whale.”

“Are you going to stand for that, Spike?” inquired Fred mischievously, hoping to start an argument of some kind.

“He has to,” said George. “He has nothing to say about the matter at all,” and he assumed a careless and indifferent air.

“If I wasn’t so weak just now I certainly would make him eat those words,” exclaimed John.

“You hear that?” demanded George. “It’s always ‘if’ with him.”

“And you always pick on a man when he’s down,” retorted John.

“How about me? Just look at the terrible wound I have on the back of my hand.”

“Yes,” said Grant, “the parrot thought you were bird seed.”

“Or a cracker,” added Fred.

“That’s right,” cried George, pretending to be greatly hurt. “You all always take sides against me. Still it’s an even match at that.”

“I guess we’d better take some of that conceit out of him, don’t you?” exclaimed Grant slowly advancing towards George.

“Well, I should say so,” cried Fred eagerly, and a moment later George was at the bottom of a pile of four boys, three of whom busied themselves with poking him in the ribs, jouncing up and down on his stomach and in every other way possible making it just as uncomfortable as they could for him.

Everyone was laughing and in good humor, however. Seldom it was that any of these boys lost his temper, for they had learned long ago just how foolish a proceeding that was. The one who gets angry is always teased, but there is no satisfaction in plaguing a boy who ignores it or gives as good as he receives and always keeps his temper under control.

Finally George was released and all four boys rose to their feet laughing and good natured. Sam had been a greatly interested spectator of these proceedings and had enjoyed them greatly.

“Say,” he exclaimed, “dey am jus’ about as bad as fightin’ sha’ks.”

“You notice it took three of them to do it though, don’t you, Sam?” exclaimed George, weak from laughter and loss of breath.

“Want some more?” demanded Grant.

“If you’ll come one at a time, I’m willing.”

“Dat’s de way,” exclaimed Sam. “One at a time. Dat’s fair.”

“We’ll postpone it till to-morrow,” said Grant. “I’m winded.”

“You’re afraid of me,” taunted George.

“Oh, go and play with your parrot,” exclaimed Fred. “You’re a bird yourself.”

“Where is he?” demanded George. “I’d almost forgotten him.”

“There he is,” said Fred laughingly. “He looks like a little old man sitting up there on that rock.”

“He’s all right; don’t you worry about him,” said George. “He’s my friend.”

“It looked so when he ate the back of your hand off,” laughed Grant.

“That’s just the way he shows his affection,” exclaimed George. “He didn’t mean anything by that.”

“Well, if that’s the case,” said Grant, “I’m certainly glad he doesn’t care anything about me.”

“Catch him, Pop,” urged John, “and we’ll clip his wings.”

“Will you help me? I don’t want to lose him now after all the trouble I had to get him. I think I can tame him, too.”

“Sure you can. Get him over here.”

“How can I do it?”

“I’ll show you,” exclaimed John. “Watch me.”

He seized hold of the string that was tied around the parrot’s leg and began to haul in hand over hand. The poor bird fluttered and struggled indignantly but all to no avail. He was quickly pulled along until he was at John’s feet when George grabbed him and held him securely.

“Now how can we cut his wings?” demanded Fred. “We have no scissors.”

“We have knives, haven’t we?” exclaimed George.

“But are they sharp enough?”

“Mine is.”

“So am mine,” said Sam. “It suttinly done fix dat sha’k all right.”

“I’m afraid it’s a little too big for a parrot though,” laughed Grant. “Don’t you think so?”

“P’raps it am,” admitted Sam. “It’s sho’ a good knife dough.”

“Spread his wings out on the rock here,” directed John. “I’ll cut the tips off his feathers so he can’t fly away.”

“Don’t hurt him.”

“No danger of that. You just hold him still.”

The operation was quickly performed and a few moments later the little green bird was angrily stalking away, shaking his ruffled feathers and uttering indignant squawks at every step.

“Look at him,” laughed Grant. “My, but he’s mad.”

“So would you be,” said George. “Imagine being treated like that by someone about a hundred times as big as you are.”

“It would rouse me a little,” admitted Grant. “What are you going to name him?”

“I don’t know. What’s a good name, anyway?”

“Call him Snip,” suggested Fred. “He certainly took a snip out of you.”

“That’s a good one,” exclaimed George. “His name is Snip.”

“You’ll have to teach him his name now, Pop,” said Grant. “That’ll give you something to do and keep you out of mischief.”

“I want him to talk, too,” said George, “and I want him to get so tame that he’ll ride around on my shoulder wherever I go.”

“And he’ll peck your eye out,” said John.

“Oh, I guess not. He’ll be all right after a while.”

“How are you going to go about teaching him to talk?” demanded John. “I suppose he’ll have to learn the alphabet first,” and he nudged Grant as he spoke.

“Oh, yes, of course,” laughed George sarcastically. “You’re all pretty smart.”

“Why, Pop,” said John, soothingly, “it wouldn’t take long. There are only twenty-six letters in it.”

“What did you say?” cried Grant, suddenly springing to his feet.

“I said there were twenty-six letters in the alphabet.”

“Hooray!” shouted Grant, and he began to dance around like a wild man. “I’ve got it. I’ve got it,” he repeated excitedly over and over again.