The old man stood up vigorously, disregarding the pain in his foot. “Let’s get to Amos ourselves, Craig. Pronto!” As he followed his mate out of the house, Elias Johnson muttered to himself with new understanding. Rats! Yes, rats crazed by the new poison might go for the dog’s eyes. So that’s what had happened to poor Sharky! Lucky that Bonnie had got away with a whole skin. People had better stay out of the woods for a while! Russell Homer had better stay off the dump, for that matter, until they learned what the hell was happening out there.

Hobbling to the town hall downhill on Main Street, Elias Johnson took in the quietness of the harbor below. The Atlantic was lying low today. Didn’t fool anyone on Yarkie Island. It would probably storm tomorrow, but meantime the people were enjoying the spell of good weather. Too dry for the woods, but on every Yarkie beach this noon young and old were having a good time, swimming carefree, sunning themselves, picnicking.

His own plan for the island was already formed in Johnson’s clicking mind. Decision One: He would phone his son-­in-­law at Harvard and explain about the new poisons causing rat trouble at the dump. Richard Carr could hurry one of his assistants to Yarkie to check it out. No doubt they could correct the problem with their modern chemicals. Decision Two: The sheriff’s office would officially announce that the woods were being sprayed. Starting at once. Everyone had to keep out. That would give the Harvard fellow the time he needed.

Maybe Richard Carr would come over himself, with Jessica, if she wasn’t too busy. With Elizabeth already on the island, they could have a nice family reunion. There was a silver lining even to the clouds over the village dump. The captain smiled faintly to himself as he limped up the brick steps under the sheriff’s sign. To the familiar faces greeting him on the hilly street, he turned an unrevealing, unworried smile—old Elias Johnson just going about one of his ordinary chores as Yarkie selectman.

The only unfamiliar note on the street was the “punks” about whom Elizabeth had remarked earlier. The three were not only ragged, they were literally dirty, and they seemed to take pride in their offensiveness as they lounged in front of Elvira Soaras’ Cafe near the pier. Their eyes were insolent, following people who passed by as if daring anyone to comment or protest.

One of the men stirred. “It’s getting hot, man. Let’s hit the beach we found yesterday!”