“Aw, when did I talk slang?” demanded Alex.
“You’ve been talking slang for a week!” Case declared.
“What’d I say?” demanded Alex, scornfully.
“You said one of those river pirates was balmy in the head,” answered Jule. “You’re always making some break like that. If I had a twirler like that you carry around with you, and couldn’t keep it under any better control than you do yours, I’d throw the belt off the wheels.”
“I know who’ll cook meals and wash dishes now,” laughed Alex. “When it comes to talking slang, you’ve got me backed up on a blind siding with my fires drawn.”
“Go to it, boys!” roared Case. “Go to it. Get it all off your chests, and I won’t have to do any work for a month.”
Alex was soon busy at the breakfast table, and when Clay returned with a great load of gasoline and provisions from the store, everything was neatly cleared away in the little cabin.
“There!” Clay said, throwing a great package at Alex’s, head, “there’s your fish line and your fish hooks, and for fear you’d want to use the coal stove or one of the motors for a sinker, I brought along a section of railroad iron. I guess that’ll hold your line.”
As the boy spoke, he threw about four inches of steel railway iron down on the deck with a great thud.
“What did that old gentleman at the store say to you about the three blue lights?” asked Alex, as Clay prepared to get the boat under way. “Did he have a ghost story to spin?”