They resumed their watching, and, though they saw the three brothers doing something in the boat, the hidden ones never dreamed that the Smith boys were plugging up the holes with corks.
“It’s got to sink pretty soon now, if we want to see the fun,” observed Beantoe, after an anxious pause.
“I think it’s going down some,” said Spider doubtfully, wondering whether he had not worked the scheme right.
“Yes, it’s going down stream, to the fishing hole,” spoke Beantoe. “I guess it’s all up with the joke.”
They realized that it was all over as far as they were concerned a few minutes later, when the boat containing the Smith boys passed around the bend and out of sight, apparently in as good a condition as it had ever been, and not leaking a drop.
“Well, what do you know about that?” demanded Spider, as he got up and stretched his cramped legs, for they had been crouching in the bushes.
“What do I know about it?” demanded Beantoe in accents of disgust. “I know that you don’t know how to play a joke; that’s what I know. I thought we’d see some fun, and watch those fellows have to swim ashore.”
“So did I, but—but something went wrong, or else they got on to the game, and stuffed up the holes,” answered Spider, helplessly scratching his head. “Come on, I’ll treat you to a chocolate soda.”
This somewhat consoled Beantoe, but there was anguish in the hearts of the cronies when, that evening, as they were down at the post office with the usual crowd of boys, the Smith brothers, who had returned from a successful fishing trip, stepped up to the plotters.
“Here’s something for you and Spider, Beantoe,” remarked Cap, holding out his hand.