Both lads gazed at Bob. He regarded them with a crestfallen countenance.
“Aren’t—aren’t they there?” he asked falteringly.
“Look!” and Ned pointed to the vacant space.
“Hang it all! I did take them out when I was at the dock,” Bob admitted. “I couldn’t get at what was in the locker with the oars on top, so I laid them on the wharf. I meant to put them back again, but——”
Ned groaned and pretended to weep with his head hidden in his arms. Jerry smiled grimly. Bob scratched his head in perplexity.
“Well, I guess the only thing to do is to let the boat drift and wait for someone to come along and give us a tow,” sighed Jerry. “Meanwhile, there are the eats. Break out the grub, Bob, and we’ll solace ourselves with that.”
“This is the limit!” complained Ned. “If ever I come out with you again, Bob Baker, you’ll know it!”
“And if ever I ask you I’ll kick myself all around the campus,” was the retort.
For a time Ned refused the tasty sandwiches which the stout lad had, with prudent foresight, stowed aboard the motor craft. But the appetizing odor was too much for him and he capitulated, but in no good spirits.