Then, too, both Bob and Ned seemed so sure that the professor had come to the swamp, as he went to other queer places, merely to collect bugs, that it would be hard to make them believe otherwise. Not that Jerry himself was sure of anything else, but he was somewhat given to fancies, and he had some queer ideas in his head just then.
He said nothing, however, and the motor boat chugged her way out of the tortuous channel into the creek, thence to the river, and so to her dock.
“Well, I sure am glad to get out of that place,” observed Ned, looking at several large and rapidly-swelling mosquito bites on his hands. “If we’d stayed there much longer they’d have eaten us alive.”
“Speaking of eating——” began Bob, with a hopeful expression on his face.
“Let’s go and have some pie!” mocked Ned. “Go to it, old man! I’m with you. That swamp air seemed to give me an appetite.”
“All right,” agreed Jerry. “But if you fellows want to eat, why not go down the river a ways, and have some good grub at Fletcher’s?”
“Go ahead,” exclaimed Ned. “Then we won’t have to go home to dinner.”
“I’m with you!” cried Bob. He generally was when the “eats” were concerned.
The boat, which had approached the dock, was turned out into the river again by Jerry. Then over the water floated a plaintive voice, calling:
“I say, fellows! Hold on! Come back! It’s fearful hot! I want a ride—come and get me—I’ll stand treat—ice cream—lollypops—lemonade—come on back and take me!”