“Honest, did he?” demanded Jule.
“If he hadn’t, we wouldn’t be eating tinned goods would we?” asked Clay.
“Why, you might get those out of the Rambler,” Case ventured. “That was a joke about the pirates getting the motor boat, wasn’t it?”
“Indeed it wasn’t!” Alex replied gravely, and in a short time the story of the boys’ morning adventures was told.
“Now, that’s what I call rotten!” Jule cried out. “And I move that we get to a telegraph office somewhere and notify some central point from which all the police boats on the river can be notified of what has been done. We’ve got to get the boat back!”
“I don’t like to call out the state troops,” Clay grinned. “We got into this scrape, and I want to get out of it without any help from the officers if possible. Uncle Zeke thinks he can take us to the Rambler to-night, and we’re going to wait here until the edge of the evening and make the attempt.”
“What’s the matter with Uncle Zeke?” asked Case. “He stands up there snuffing the air as if he smelled more chicken.”
In a moment the old negro came dashing down to where the boys stood, his eyes almost starting from his head.
“It doesn’t take much to frighten you, Uncle Zeke,” Clay laughed as the old darkey came up on a run. “According to all accounts, you have fits on the slightest provocation. The bear and the dog and the tracks of horses’ feet have all set you going this morning. What is it this time?”
“It’s done broke out! It’s done broke out!” exclaimed the negro looking wildly about and even starting for the rowboat.