“Yep. Just want to be sure things are ready.”
“Owen always has a hunger on,” laughed McConnell.
“You’re right,” confessed Owen. “Especially in a boat. Anywhere else I just have a plain appetite. But the minute I get into a boat, my stomach begins to howl for food. Besides, it’s after four o’clock and I didn’t eat much lunch.”
“Then what do you say to a bite now?” asked Allan, “and then wait until we anchor for real supper. We must make tracks as long as the sun lasts.”
“I’m with you,” said Owen. “Of course McConnell doesn’t want anything.”
“Doesn’t he, though!” chimed in McConnell. “Just watch me!”
“That’s the way with these fellows that remark about other fellows’ appetites,” said Owen, his mouth full of biscuit. “Catch!” and Allan caught a biscuit in his left hand.
The Arabella was making good time in a southwest breeze, and was heading straight up the broad, majestic river. The ripples whispered under the bow, there was a chuckle in the rudder’s wake, and from the throat of the boom came a grunt of contentment. The boys all shouted a greeting as they passed Mr. Goodstone in his catamaran.
“Mr. Goodstone in his catamaran.”