“Well, I don’t see anything much to worry about,” said Frank. “We’re going on a sea voyage, and I love the sea. We are on what practically amounts to a pirate ship, and pirates always have fascinated me. We don’t know where we’re going, but I’ll bet it’s to the smugglers’ cove. And we don’t know what dark and dreadful fate is being reserved for us, but we can cross that bridge when we come to it.”
“For my part,” he added, lowering his voice, “I’ll bet that before he’s through with us Mr. ‘Black George’ Folwell will wish he had let us alone. Such trusty adventurers as Bob and Jack here, to say nothing of myself—notice my modesty—are liable to take his ship away from him before we’re through with this business.”
Jack clapped him on the back, and Bob roughed his hair.
“Attaboy.”
“That’s the idea.”
Frank merely had given an expression to their own sentiments.
“If we only had a weapon or two,” mourned Jack.
Mr. Temple, with an exclamation, reached for his bag. Then he groaned dismally.
“No use.”
“What’s the matter, Dad?” asked Bob.