"Now, Harold!" protested Ruth. "As if this were not enough, you must make it worse with bad puns."
"I won't do it again," promised Harold, with mock penitency. "But wait a minute—I'm going with you."
He tossed the tools on the floor of the car and slammed the door.
"Jack, my boy," he resumed, "I really believe your idea is a good one, an inspiration, a mark of genius; I verily believe we are on the eve of a great discovery——"
"Oh, you dry up!" snorted Jack. "I don't really think we'll find one. But it won't hurt to ask."
Upon closer inspection all of the boat-houses appeared to be deserted, except the one farthest away. This was slightly removed from the others, and more ramshackle looking; but someone was evidently there, for they could hear the sound of hammering, which seemed to come from within. Over the door hung a home-made sign, with the inscription:
JOHN SLACK,
BOATS FOR HIRE.
"See anything funny about that name?" asked Harold.
The others examined it more closely.