wonder no one could live there. Red Shirt was intently surveying about
and praising the general view as fine. Clown also termed it "an
absolutely fine view." I don't know whether it is so fine as to be
absolute, but there was no doubt as to the exhilarating air. I realized
it as the best tonic to be thus blown by the fresh sea breeze upon a
wide expanse of water. I felt hungry.

"Look at that pine; its trunk is straight and spreads its top branches
like an umbrella. Isn't it a Turnersque picture?" said Red Shirt. "Yes,
just like Turner's," responded Clown, "Isn't the way it curves just
elegant? Exactly the touch of Turner," he added with some show of pride.
I didn't know what Turner was, but as I could get along without knowing
it, I kept silent. The boat turned to the left with the island on the
right. The sea was so perfectly calm as to tempt one to think he was not
on the deep sea. The pleasant occasion was a credit to Red Shirt. As I
wished, if possible, to land on the island, I asked the boatman if our
boat could not be made to it. Upon this Red Shirt objected, saying that
we could do so but it was not advisable to go too close the shore for
fishing. I kept still for a while. Then Clown made the unlooked-for
proposal that the island be named Turner Island. "That's good; We shall
call it so hereafter," seconded Red Shirt. If I was included in that
"We," it was something I least cared for. Aoshima was good enough for
me. "By the way, how would it look," said Clown, "if we place Madonna by
Raphael upon that rock? It would make a fine picture."

"Let's quit talking about Madonna, ho, ho, ho," and Red Shirt emitted a
spooky laugh.

"That's all right. Nobody's around," remarked Clown as he glanced at me,
and turning his face to other direction significantly, smiled