“Suppose we quit guessing and get the Rambler out of the mud,” suggested Clay, then.
Case and Jule were called out on deck, and the lads, clad only in their bathing suits, were soon wallowing in the soft mud, which was so deep that they could get no footing at all, and so could not lift on the boat. In fact, the more they tried to lift the boat, to slide it toward deep water, the deeper she seemed to sink.
“We’re up against a beautiful proposition!” Jule exclaimed, climbing back on deck and leaning over the gunwale. “If we jar the boat any more, we’ll have to take a trip to China and pull it through from the other side!”
Clay plowed out of the mud and made his way to the “tow-head” where he began examining the growth of willows. He seemed satisfied with what he saw, for he began cutting the long wands and called to the others to join him.
“What’s doing?” asked Case.
“This ain’t no island improvement corporation!” Alex. grinned.
“I know what he’s up to!” Jule shouted, and in a second he was off the deck, cutting willows and throwing them into a heap at the edge of the hard ground.
“We’ve got to make mattresses of these willows,” Jule declared, wiping the sweat from his face. “I read about that in a paper not long ago.”
“To sleep on?” asked Alex., with a wink at Case.
“Silly!” roared Jule. “Get busy, both of you.”