“That’s good sense, too,” Clay agreed. “He can go away if he doesn’t want to comply with our requirements. He may be only a tramp seeking a ride on the river. There are plenty of such characters here.”
“I wish he would come aboard,” Clay suggested, “and I’ll see if I can’t coax him,” he added, turning toward the shore and making a trumpet of his hands. “Perhaps he already has a boat.”
“Hello, the shore,” he called, “we’re going away directly, so if you want to talk with us, you’d better row out.”
“You always was the boy with a little prevarication on the end of your tongue!” suggested Alex. “We’re not going away directly.”
“Morning is directly,” laughed Clay turning toward the shore again.
“Are you coming on board?” he asked.
“I haven’t got any boat,” was the reply. “Why can’t you send one over?”
Clay’s reply elicited a volley of epithets from the shore, and directly a great blaze sprang up not many feet distant from the water.
“Wreckers!” cried Captain Joe.
“Surest thing you know!” answered Clay. “The only wonder is that they didn’t set their beacon going before.”