“Sure! Got a postal! Come on to the freight yard!”
The boys, whose spirits were bubbling over with excitement ran, rather than walked, to the freight house. They went up the platform steps by jumps and burst in on the agent, who was busy over waybills.
“Where is it, Mr. Hitter?” gasped Bob.
“Where’s what?” asked Mr. Hitter, peering over the tops of his glasses.
“Why our motor boat.”
“I don’t know nothin’ about no motor boats,” said the agent, preparing to go on with his work.
The hearts of the boys began to sink. Suppose the boat had been lost in shipment?
“But this postal says it has arrived,” persisted Bob showing what the letter carrier had given him.
“Oh that,” said Mr. Hitter. “Well, yes, there is a piece of freight as big as a house addressed to you. But I didn’t s’pose it was a boat. I took it for a specimen of a whale that I thought Professor Snodgrass had ketched while you an’ him was down in Mexico. It’s boxed up jest like a whale. I’ll bet it is a whale, Bob.”
“Where is it?” cried the boys in chorus.