"This is good fun," said Ted Day, "but it would be better still outside the boom."
"Oh yes!" cried Charlie Lister. "Do go outside; just a little bit, Mort."
Mort shook his head, and tried to look very decided. His own heart was beating a lively response to the suggestions of his companions, but his answer was,—
"No, Charlie; uncle does not allow me to go outside, you know."
Once the idea had been mooted, however, it refused to go to rest again. The morning seemed a perfect one. There was a steady breeze from the north-west, just the direction best suited for a slant across the lake and back without having to tack at all.
"MORT CRAWLED UPON THE STAGE AND FASTENED TO IT THE BOAT'S PAINTER."
Ted and Charlie begged and coaxed Mort to make one trip out, any way. Mr. Turner would never know anything about it, and they could easily be back before mid-day.
Mort's resolution, which had been rapidly weakening, finally gave way altogether.
"All right," said he, allowing a sudden spirit of reckless ambition to submerge his compunctions at doing what he knew well enough was a mean betrayal of his uncle's confidence in him. "We'll just make one trip across. It does seem a pity to lose the chance this glorious morning."