The boys hauled themselves to their feet reluctantly. Rick walked to the door and looked out through the screen. He could see the creek glistening, and, out beyond the dock where the houseboat and runabout were tied up, he saw ripples spreading where a fish had jumped. The air was still, and he could hear cicadas in the trees and shrubs.
"This is the land of pleasant living," he observed. "I'm surprised anyone on the Eastern Shore ever gets a lick of work done."
"You certainly don't," Scotty retorted. "Come on over here and stop admiring the scenery."
Steve had produced large sheets of white paper, a ruler, and pencils. Rick sat down. "I'll act as recorder."
"Volunteering for the hardest job?" Scotty inquired. "The air must be affecting you."
"Nope." Rick shook his head. "I have just enough energy left to be realistic. I can't read your writing. Suppose I put down the headings. Location, date of sighting, time of sighting, direction of sighting, number of persons who saw object. What else?"
"Description," Scotty suggested. "Maybe that ought to be in two parts. One for shape and one for color."
Rick nodded. "Good idea. I'll rule lines as we go." He drew lines for the columns, printed his headings, and put in the first several horizontal lines. "Ready," he announced.
"We'll start with the first one. Location: five miles south of Wye Mills on Route 50."
Rick printed: "5M S Wye Mls Rte 50."