“Cat’s fur! To make kittens’ breeches of, ’cause we couldn’t get dog fur–now do you know?” snapped Ferd.
“Shut up, Ferd!” commanded Dave, again.
“He’d better shut up,” growled the man, “or something’ll happen to him–the young shrimp!”
“Oh, dear me, Wyn!” cried Bessie Lavine; “let’s go back to camp.”
“You’d all better scatter–both gels and boys,” said the boatman, threateningly. “We’re busy here an’ we don’t want to be bothered by shrimps.”
“I guess we’ll stay a while longer, Mister,” Dave said, boldly.
“We were here first,” cried the irrepressible Ferd.
“You youngsters air in our way. Get out,” commanded the Boatman.
He was working the bateau nearer to the raft, using one of the long sweeps for that purpose.
“Heave over the anchors again, fellows,” said Dave, quietly. “Then stand by with your paddles to repel boarders. We mustn’t let ’em have the raft, or move it.”