“Right here!” a voice called from the porch, and Belle Ada ran into the yard.
Greetings were soon over, and then the young folks gathered around to inspect Bug Eye’s new creation.
“She goes on land or water,” he explained proudly. “See? Got a propeller on her and everything. Works on the fly wheel. The boss give me that old flivver—remember?—an’ said I could do what I wanted with it. So I done it. Looks great, hey? An’ when I come to a lake, why all I have to do is throw the propeller in gear, an’ away we go!”
“Yes! But, Bug Eye,” Teddy broke in, with a look at Roy, “where is this lake you’re going to sail on?”
A look of amazement spread over the puncher’s face. He snapped his fingers and frowned.
“Golly!” he exclaimed. “Never thought about that. Well, I’ll be jiggered! Of course there’s Lomley’s Lake—but that would never do. Too small. Well, now, that’s too bad.” Then he brightened. “But if I do find a lake somewheres, I’ll be all set for it!”
A laugh arose, which did not at all disconcert Bug Eye. All but the proprietor of “Psyche, the Fish,” wandered into the house. Bug Eye drove toward the bunk-house, there to be the center of a crowd of sarcastic cowpunchers. The remarks made concerning the Fishmobile were graphic if not flattering.
Much as Roy and Teddy wanted to talk to the visitors, they knew that they must continue preparations for the journey to Whirlpool River. It was nine-thirty now, and Nick had not yet returned. Mr. Manley was pacing about the yard nervously, anxious to get started.
Roy was currying Star over by the hitching rail at the side of the cook house. Suddenly he heard a voice that caused him to start. It came from behind the cooking shack, and Roy made as though to go forward, then thought again and remained where he was.
It was Gus Tripp talking. At first Roy did not recognize the tones of his companion, but as the other talked louder, he knew it to be The Pup. Gus seemed to be strangely insistent over something.