“It’s our motor boat!” exclaimed Bob. “It’s come! Hurrah! I must hurry over and tell Ned and Jerry! Whoop! I’m glad it’s Saturday. We can put in the whole day getting the boat from the station. Hurrah!”
“Is anything the matter, Bob?” asked Mrs. Baker, coming to the head of the stairs and looking at her son, who, at that instant was standing on his head in the lower hall.
“Matter? I should say there was, mother!” he cried, jumping to an upright position. “Our motor boat’s here!”
“Oh dear!” exclaimed Mrs. Baker. “Now I suppose you’ll be going off on cruises which will be worse than the automobile trips.”
“Worse? Better you mean, mother,” remarked Bob. “But I must run over to Ned’s house. Where’s my hat?”
“Where did you leave it?”
“I don’t know,” replied the boy, who seldom could keep track of the head covering. “Never mind, it’s warm, I’ll go without it.”
He ran from the house into the pleasant spring sunshine, and soon was racing down the street toward the home of one of his chums, Ned Slade. Reaching there he gave a shrill whistle on his fingers.
“What is it?” asked Ned, poking his head out of a window.