“Oh, will you excuse me?” asked Ruth, in some confusion.
“That’s all right—they do look like tramps,” said their father. “But you can’t wear your best clothes fussing around boats and fish and taking parties out. Well, Tom and Henry, any luck?” he asked the newcomers.
“Extra fine, Dad,” answered one, while both of them stared curiously at the visitors.
“That’s good,” went on Mr. Martin. “These folks,” he added, “were blown ashore last night in their houseboat. They want help to get it off.”
“Will you go and look at her, and then we can make a bargain?” interposed Mr. Howbridge.
“Oh, shucks now, friend, we aren’t always out for money, though we make a living by working for summer folks like you,” said Mr. Martin, smiling.
“Is that your boat over there?” asked one of the young men whose name, they learned later, was Tom.
“Yes,” assented Neale, for the fisherman pointed in the direction of the stranded Bluebird, which, however, could not be seen from the cabin.
“We saw her as we came around,” went on Henry. “I wondered what she was doing up on shore, and we intended to have a look after we tied up our craft.”
“Will you be able to help us get her afloat?” asked Ruth, for she rather liked the healthful, manly appearance of the two young men.