“You’d miss a lot of fun if you did,” said Clay.
“When you get a hold of a nice, choice mess of boys, like the Rambler crew, you want to give them plenty of room and fresh air. They’ll come out all right!”
“You do, at any rate,” admitted the captain. “Let’s see,” he added, “what was it you were going to find when I left you? A lost channel or something like that? You didn’t find it, did you?”
“We found a scrap, and a lot of ruffians, and a friend,” Clay replied, “and that’s all we did find, but we haven’t given it up.”
“And that’s all you ever will find,” declared the captain. “There may be a lost channel somewhere in the world. In fact, there is one on the New York side up near the big lake, but I’m afraid you are wasting your time. Why don’t you come on down the river with me?”
“That would never do,” Clay replied. “When we left the delta of the Mississippi, we promised ourselves that we would look over every inch of the St. Lawrence, and we’re going to do it. We’re going to Lake Ontario and then back to find the lost channel. And after that, we’re going to return to Ogdensburg and ship the Rambler to little old Chicago. That is, unless we decide to sail up the lakes.”
“Well, good luck to you,” said Captain Morgan, as Clay passed down the side of the Sybil. “If I get tangled up with a lost channel anywhere, I’ll send it to you by parcel post. Why, you boys can make a lost channel easier than you can find one.”
“But it wouldn’t be half so much fun,” Clay said, stepping into the rowboat. “We’re having lots of sport on the St. Lawrence all the same!”
[CHAPTER XIII—A MEETING AT MONTREAL]
As Clay was being rowed back to the Rambler, one of the sailors called his attention to three men standing on the shore of the river not far away from the intersecting stream. They stood looking down at the Rambler for a short time, and then disappeared around the angle of a bluff.