“Before the steamer comes?” repeated the landlord, dubiously.
“Yes; I suppose she won’t touch here too early but that we’ll have time for breakfast?”
“Breakfast? When? To-morrow?”
“Yes.”
“Why, there’s no steamer comes to-morrow.”
“What!”
At that astonishing intelligence, all the boys started up to their feet from the easy lounging attitudes into which they had flung themselves, and surrounding the landlord, stared at him with speechless amazement.
“What’s that?” cried Bruce, at last; “no steamer to-morrow?”
“No; O, dear, no.”
“Why—why—when does she come here?”