The operation of preparing breakfast did not take them a great while, for long experience made them experts along these lines. And while they were doing this the darkness without gradually gave way to the gray dawn.
While the immediate prospect ahead of them was far from cheerful, it seemed such a vast improvement over what they had recently faced that every one of the eight boys felt ready to joke and laugh as they partook of the meal.
Step Hen was up to his old tricks again, and accusing his chums of hiding some of his possessions that afterward turned up in the very place he had put them. It was generally that way, for Step Hen forgot, which was his most cardinal sin. And even when he found that he had his bandanna tied around his neck, though tucked out of sight, after asking Giraffe if he had purloined the same, he indignantly wanted to know who had played that mean trick on him, so as to make him believe he had lost his most cherished possession.
“Step Hen,” said Giraffe gravely, “you make me think of one of those pearl divers that go down in the Indian Ocean for oysters. When a big shark waits for him to rise from the bottom what does the native do but stir up the sand, and make the water so roily that the man-eater just can’t see him when he shoots to the surface.”
“Oh! so I’m a shark, am I?” demanded Step Hen indignantly.
“No, you’re the smart pearl diver,” retorted Giraffe; “for when you find yourself caught in a hole, and that all the while you’re wearing the lost hat or the bandanna, you accuse us of having put it there, so as to blind everybody’s eyes.”
“Yes,” added Allan, with a laugh, “Step Hen is like the thief being chased by a mob; and who yells out at the top of his voice, ‘Stop, thief!’ so everybody he meets will think he’s the man who’s been robbed; and in the confusion he gets off. You’re the guilty one who poked that red rag under the collar of your flannel shirt, and the less you say about it the better.”
Whereupon Step Hen, finding himself routed, only grinned, and wisely held his peace, realizing that the boys were “on to him,” as Giraffe put it.
So breakfast was eaten, and at least they all felt in better trim to face what new troubles the day might bring in its train.
Bumpus would never be happy so long as they remained aboard that clumsy craft. He haunted the deck, and kept watching the rushing river, as well as the way the furious wind blew.