"You'll be lucky if you don't lose it. There's lots of chances between here and Miami, or between here and anywhere. There isn't six inches between the Irene's bottom and the rocks this minute and we're going to stir the mud a dozen times to-morrow."
"Supposing a storm comes while we are anchored so near the rocks?"
"Anybody who supposes in this country won't ever do anything else."
"Would we make anything by another night run?"
"Make sure to pile up on a bank so high that you'd have time to homestead a farm before you got off."
The Irene stirred the mud a few times the next day, but passed through Blackwater, Barnes and Card sounds and all the cuts and channels to Biscayne Bay without trouble. There a high wind and a heavy sea held her back, so that it was dusk when the anchor was dropped just outside of the mouth of Miami River. During this, their last evening on the cabin roof of the Irene, Mr. Barstow said to Dick:
"Do you feel perfectly well and strong again?"
"Never felt so well before in my life and am getting my strength back fast."
"Then vacation ends for you and Ned to-day. To-morrow morning you will take the train for the North, where you will have about two weeks to spend with your mother. I will wire her from Miami about our arrangement, which I am sure she will approve, and tell her when she may expect you. Very soon you will receive your instructions. You and Ned will be together, work the same, pay the same, and both of you have my perfect confidence that you will justify every hope I have of you."
"Mr. Barstow, I haven't any words—"