“If it does, it was not far from high tide when we struck the sand bar,” Jule replied, “and the situation will grow worse instead of better.”
“Let’s get out our shovels and dig a canal to the river,” Case suggested. “We can’t play any Robinson Crusoe stunt here very long.”
“And the bold, bad men from the raft will be down on us to-night if we stay,” Alex added, “so I’m for doing anything to get off the bar.”
The boys were actually preparing to dig a trench across the bar when a steamer to which they called more as a matter of form than with any expectation of receiving assistance, turned toward their side of the river and slowed down.
“Hello, there, boys,” came a voice from the bridge. “You must have been having a head-on collision with a sand bar.”
“Why,” Clay exclaimed, “that’s Captain Morgan! What was it I was saying about this being a pretty small world?”
“Right you are, Captain,” called Case. “We’re up against it all right. Can you send us a line?”
“Certainly,” answered the captain. “I’ll have you out of that in no time.”
And he did! The line was sent in a rowboat, attached to the prow of the Rambler and slowly, steadily, so as not to strain the timbers or produce cracks in the hull, the motor boat was drawn from her uncomfortable position, practically uninjured. Clay was soon grasping the captain by the hand. The other boys shouted their greetings and remained on board to tidy up the Rambler.
“Young man,” Captain Morgan said, “if I had a hundred boys, and the whole mess of them, combined and individual, got into as many scrapes as you four kids do, I’d keep them under lock and key!”