“Yes,” said Tom slowly, “but you can bet I wouldn’t go it again, even if I knew it would make me a real authah.”
It was nearly two o’clock when the Anclote went skimming along Crystal Lake and once more took to the air on its homeward flight. With no further incentive to speed, the two boys took a leisurely flight, and it was half past five o’clock when Mac’s welcome flag marking the camp fluttered beneath the descending airship.
Early the next morning, the “Anclote” was dismantled, stowed away in the hold of Captain Joe’s Three Sisters, and camp was struck. All the members of the club had determined to return to Pensacola with Captain Joe, except Bob. He was carried across to the mainland to make the train from Tarpon Springs to Tampa, where he would rejoin his mother.
After a lingering farewell, he sprang from the schooner.
“Boys,” he called back, “we’ve had a crackin’ fine time since I knew you, and I hope you’re not sorry you elected me a member of the club.”
“You’re the next president, if you come south next year,” answered Tom promptly.
Bob shook his head, but he flushed with pleasure as he did it.
“I ain’t got nothin’ to say, Bob,” spoke up Mac. “You’ve had your revenge on me good and plenty.”
“An’ I done fo’give yo’ dat Black Pirate business,” added Jerry Blossom, his white teeth showing.
“I didn’t mean that,” exclaimed Bob. “I only wanted to say that, in spite of the salvage we got and Jerry’s treasure box, I found something I needed more.”