“Yes, I do say it!” answered Johnny. “The whole thing is knocked into a cocked hat; the expedition is as dead as a herring. Go back to the academy, take your punishment like men, and say no more about it.”
“But what’s the matter?” asked Tom, impatiently.
“Just look out there!” said Johnny, pointing toward the creek. “Do you see the Sweepstakes anywhere? No, you don’t! Squire Thompson suddenly took it into his head that he would like to go on a fishing excursion, and he’s gone; he won’t be back for a week.”
The Night-hawks were astounded at this intelligence. After congratulating themselves on the gallant and skillful manner in which they had made their escape from the academy, and looking forward so eagerly and confidently to the consummation of all their plans, this disheartening piece of news came upon them like a thunder clap from a clear sky. They had placed themselves in danger all for nothing; for, if their boat was gone, they might as well be at the academy.
“O, now, I’m the most unlucky boy in the whole world!” drawled Tom. “Something is always happening to bother me. I never can do any thing! But I knew all the time just how it would turn out!”
“You did?” exclaimed Rich, angrily. “Then what did you get us in this miserable scrape for? We are all a parcel of blockheads. We ought to have had sense enough to know that such a scheme as this never could succeed. I throw up my appointment as commander of the vessel.”
“No doubt you do,” said Miller, who seemed to take the matter more coolly than any one else. “It’s very easy to throw up your command after our vessel is gone. But, Johnny, why didn’t you send us word of this? You’ve got us into a pretty mess.”
“I didn’t know that the Sweepstakes was gone until seven o’clock to-night,” replied the fifth captain, “and it was too late to send you word then.”
“Well, somebody suggest something!” said Miller. “Come, Newcombe, have your wits all left you? We are in a bad scrape, and we must get out, if possible. Let’s hear from you!”
“O, now, I’ve got nothing to say!” drawled Tom, who was walking thoughtfully up and down the lumber-pile. “We’re booked for the guard-house, easy enough. I always was an unlucky boy.”