“You better keep away from the docks,” warned Case. “You’d get lost on South Clark street between any two blocks you could name.”
“Well, I always find myself again,” Alex declared.
“Yes, you do,” Case jeered. “The last time you got lost, it took two boys and a bear and a bulldog to find you. And I don’t think you are worth the trouble at that!”
The boys immediately had a friendly struggle on the deck, in which Teddy and Captain Joe promptly mixed.
That night the boys arranged for another campfire on the north bank of the St. Lawrence. They put up their hammocks, anchored the boat close inshore, and prepared for a long sleep.
“If there isn’t any lost channels or charters from French kings or strayed family jewels hiding about here,” Jule commented, “we’ll certainly enjoy ourselves in this camp.”
Nothing came to disturb them during the night. They watched the procession of craft of all descriptions on the river until nine o’clock, then went to sleep with a danger signal swinging from the prow of the Rambler. They were early astir in the morning and on their way upstream.
There was no need of haste, yet the boys seemed to enjoy themselves most when the boat was in motion, so they plowed slowly up the river until night, enjoying the wild scenery and stopping now and then at a little settlement. That was the first of many days of uninterrupted pleasure on the most extensive water system of the North American continent.
On the second night, they made another camp with only Captain Joe and Teddy standing guard. Alex was out after fish early in the morning, and at six o’clock he served one of his long-wished for fish a la Indian breakfasts.
Just before nightfall, they came within sight of Quebec and moored at a pier a short distance down the river.