“I suppose we’ll have to,” replied Ned. “We’ll get the No. 19—she pulls the easiest of any. But I’d rather have the scull-boat.”
“I tell you what!” exclaimed Tom, struck with an idea which had popped into his brain. “We’ll get a boat down at the Paper-mill Slough and then all we’ll have to do will be to row across.”
“Whose boat?” queried Ned.
“Oh, I don’t know,” answered Tom. “Anybody’s’ll do. There are always a lot of skiffs tied along shore there—old leaky things, but good enough for us to fool with.”
“It wouldn’t be stealing, would it?” asked Ned, anxiously.
“No; I wouldn’t call that ‘stealing,’” asserted Tom. “Some of them don’t belong to anybody, ’special. They’re just used by the South Beaufort fellows to monkey in, and aren’t even locked. Nobody’ll care a bit if we take one for a day, and bring it back. It’ll save us a big row up against the current, too.”
“Save you, you mean,” corrected Ned. “I can’t row, except with one hand.”
“You shan’t row a stroke!” decided Tom, alarmed lest Ned might be going to try. “I’m running this shooting-match!” Then he added, doubtfully: “Zu-zu wants to go.”
“Let’s take her,” urged Ned. “Of course! She wouldn’t be in the way a bit.”
“Girls are a kind of bother, usually, out fishing, but Zu-zu’s different from most of them,” said Tom, highly pleased.