At exactly three o’clock, Bob walked briskly up to Tom’s house. There was no black rag on the gate. That was encouraging. By some occult boy’s reasoning, he knew that the club members were in the back yard. He had advanced but a few steps on the shell walk when Tom Allen appeared.
“I didn’t know whethah yo’ all ’d come. Mac’s hyah,” he said in a rather awed voice. Bob noticed this, and some of his last evening’s resentment revived.
“Look here, Tom,” he said, “I like you fellows fine, and I’d like to chum with you anywhere, but I don’t want to butt in. I’m not askin’ any favors of Mac.”
“Oh, Mac’s all right,” said Tom apologetically, “only he’s kind o’ cranky sometimes. But you’ll like him when you know him.”
The much discussed Mac turned out to be a very ordinary boy with no education and little natural refinement. He was older than any of the other boys, but less in stature, although strongly built. In short, Mac was a shiftless boy, the son of a coast steamer captain, who had been left to grow up pretty much as he liked. As this meant mainly a love for boats and sailing and a consequent knowledge of all the adjacent waterways, he was easily the leader of Tom and Hal in cruises afloat.
As Bob, with a quick scrutiny of the stocky Mac, stepped forward to greet him with a handshake, the great Gregory nodded his head, and busied himself lighting a cigarette. Bob was surprised and indignant; but he showed neither.
“So yer the kid ’at wants to hook up wid us?” commented Mac.
“I was invited to join the club,” said Bob with a forced smile. “But I was given to understand that it was only if you liked me.”
“’Tain’t a question o’ like ur dislikes,” commented Mac, blowing out a cloud of smoke. “Kin ye deliver the goods?”