CHAPTER XIII
ON THE WAY
“It all comes back to me again, when I see that frozen mud bank over there, fellows,” called out Frank Savage, after they had been pushing their way along the rough canal for some time.
“How many times we did get stuck on just such a mud bank,” laughed Paul. “I can shut my eyes even now, and imagine I see some of us wading alongside, and helping to get our motor boats out of the pickle. I think Bobolink must dream of it every once in a while, for he had more than his share of the fun.”
“It was bully fun all right, say what you will!” declared the boy mentioned, “though like a good many other things that are past and gone, distance lends enchantment to the view.”
“That’s right,” echoed Tom Betts, “you always seem to forget the discomforts when you look back to that kind of thing, and remember only the jolly good times. I’ve come home from hunting as tired as a dog, and vowed it would be a long 92 while before I ever allowed myself to be tempted to go again. But, fellows, if a chum came along the next day and asked me I’d fall to the bait.”
A chance to do a little sailing interrupted this pleasant exchange of reminders. But it was for a very short distance only that they were able to take advantage of a favoring breeze; then the boys found it necessary to push the boats again.
Some of them strapped on their skates and set out to draw the laden iceboats as the most logical way of making steady progress.
“What are two measly miles, when such a glorious prospect looms up ahead of us?” cried Sandy. “We ought to be at the old Radway by noon.”
“Yes,” added Bobolink, quickly. “And I heard Paul saying just now that as we were in no great hurry he meant to call a halt there for an hour or more. We can start a fire and have a bully little warm lunch, just to keep us from starving between now and nightfall, when a regular dinner will be in order.”