“If they do,” Clay answered, “I hope they’ll bring a whole pocketful of spark plugs.”
“And I hope they’ll bring back a dozen squirrels, and six rabbits, and a coon, and a ’possum!” Jule laughed. “Here we’ve been on this river all the way down from Pittsburg, and haven’t had any wild game yet! I’ve eaten fish until I believe there are fins growing on my toes.”
“There’s a large motor boat coming down,” Clay said, pointing up stream. “Perhaps we can get what we want by going aboard.”
“Looks like a pretty decent sort of a craft,” Jule suggested.
“It looks to me like a store-boat, anyhow,” Clay went on.
“Then we’ll give ’em a hail!”
The call from the Rambler was answered immediately, and a large-sized motor boat turned in toward the Kentucky shore. The name “Hawk” was discernible on the prow as she came slowly on.
“What idiot named a sailing vessel after a bird?” asked Jule.
“She may be a bird, at that,” decided Clay. “She looks as if she could go some, anyway.”
“Hello, the boat!” now came from the Hawk.