“I believe I have heard that story somewhere,” replied Jock. “Did you ever hear it, Hank?” he added, turning to the envious boatman.
“I knows what I know,” retorted Hank, adopting a line of argument which is not confined to the region of the St. Lawrence.
“You’d better be starting, boys,” interrupted George. “You’ve got a long drive before you, and you’ll be too late to get any supper at the hotel if you stay around here any longer, wasting your time and words too.”
The suggestion was at once acted upon. The fish were stored in the carriage which was to convey the boys back to the hotel, and after they had assisted the boatmen in lifting their skiffs from the water and placing them upon the frame wagons which had been sent down to carry the boats to the place from which they had started in the early morning, they all clambered into their seats and were ready to depart.
“Hold on a minute,” called George, as he ran quickly toward them. “Who’s going to drive you back to the Landing to-morrow morning?”
“I don’t know. We’ll find some one,” replied Jock.
“If ye don’t mind I’d like to do it myself. I’ve got a good team and a pretty fair wagon, and I won’t charge you any more than you’d pay any one else. I’ll come over for you about eight o’clock, if you say so.”
“All right, George,” said Jock. “We’ll be glad to have you. We’ll call it settled, then, and you are to come for us to-morrow morning at eight.”
“That’s the way to do it,” said Ben. “Don’t you let these fellows have any chance to explain how they got the muscallonge when you aren’t near to put in a word.”
George made no reply, and the boys at once started.