But, when it came to Bob’s personal equipment, his new chums were enthusiastic and generous advisers. The customary outfit of clothing was waved aside with scorn. The things that appealed to Tom and Hal were the articles they had not been able to own. On these things, they helped Bob spend his money freely.
“We can all use ’em,” was Hal’s excuse.
A short heavy rod and a large reel for big fish was the first purchase and a keen hunting and fish knife in a leather case was the second. Then came the selection of an eight-shot automatic revolver and a weighty package of cartridges. The fifteen dollars expended for this made a deep hole in Bob’s funds, but he explained to his mother that no camp would be safe without this modern firearm.
After that there were shells for the club shotgun, a new camera, at Mrs. Balfour’s suggestion, a set of gulf coast hydrographic charts, a safety camp axe, an electric flash light, a pocket compass, two new skillets, a boiling and a coffee pot to take the place of the rusted utensils in camp, and finally—although Hal pronounced it a waste of money—a new outfit of camp plates, cups, forks, knives and spoons.
Mrs. Balfour looked somewhat doubtfully at the list of hardware when Bob submitted it—the total was a little over eighty dollars—but she finally sanctioned it.
The excitement of the past week was like a tonic to the not too strong northern boy. His flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes were reward enough to his anxious mother. She joined in Bob’s enthusiasm and the next morning kept him company on his trips to the schooner, Tom’s home and the “sporting goods” stores.
On one of these trips, his mother awaiting him at Mrs. Allen’s home, Bob came squarely upon Mac Gregory lounging near Captain Joe’s schooner. Bob was too happy to harbor any resentment. He nodded his head and spoke pleasantly. Mac looked at him contemptuously.
“I’ve heard all about it,” he said, with a sneer. “Purty soft fur the kids. Ye got nothin’ but coin, I understand, an’ the boys ur workin’ ye to a queen’s taste. I don’t blame ’em. But don’t furgit, Son,”—he didn’t say “sissy” this time—“the little old boat club ye’ve bought don’t own Perdido Bay. Me an’ my boat is likely to show up there any time. An’ when we do, give us a wide berth, ur somebody’s goin’ to git hurt. Understand?”
“Perfectly,” answered Bob. “I’m glad to be ‘worked’—by Tom and Hal. You’ll notice you aren’t getting the benefit of a nickel. As for givin’ you a ‘wide berth’, you’ll get it when it’s comin’ to you. And don’t forget, Son,” concluded Bob, stepping up to the young bully and facing him squarely, “if ever you try to make me or my friends any trouble, and I get close enough to you I’ll bend your ugly face in till it breaks.”
The astonished Mac could only gasp in surprise.