“We know. She took us up to ’em first shot,” said Jack. “Great little mother you’ve got, boy!”
“Glad you like her,” laughed Tom.
A little later the three chums were back at the boathouse making the crate. There was hammering, pounding, splitting and sawing—that is, when there was a cessation in the talk, which was not very often, as the lads had much to say to each other.
Then, too, each one had a different idea of how the work ought to be done, and they argued freely, though good-naturedly.
“Say, we’ll never get anything done if we keep this up,” said Tom after a while.
“That’s right. Talk less and work more,” advised Bert.
“Here comes Dick Jones. He’ll help,” said Tom, and he explained that his village chum was going to camp with them. Dick was introduced to the two Elmwood Hall boys, and they liked him at once, as he did them.
After that the work went on better, for it was no small task to crate the motorboat and an additional pair of hands were much needed.
“And what did you say the name of the lake is, where we’re going camping?” asked Jack, during a pause in the hammering and sawing.