“P. S.—I hailed Collins’ boat as she went by and he will take me to Point Lalone, where I can catch the Grand Trunk for Montreal. My address will be Imperial Hotel, Montreal.”
“Well, if that isn’t too bad! Just when we need his advice, too,” burst out Harry, as Ralph concluded reading the brief note aloud to his chums.
“It is hard luck. But it’s just like dad,” laughed Ralph. “Here he comes up here for a vacation, and the first thing you know he’s plunging off to Montreal to bury himself in work again!”
“That’s the American business man all over,” commented Percy Simmons judicially; “duty before pleasure; the nose to the grindstone always.”
“No danger of your ever being taken that way,” scoffed Harry Ware; “a hammock and a big glass of ice cream soda for you, if you ever get rich.”
“Oh, I don’t know that I’m any exception to some folks I know,” retorted Percy airily.
“Say, fellows, let’s go up to the house,” suggested Ralph. “I want to make some inquiries about what time dad left, and so on. Then this evening we might take a run over to the Canadian shore and send a wire to the Imperial.”
“All right,” rejoined Harry; “suits me.”
“Look out, we might encounter that spook craft again,” said Percy Simmons teasingly.
“Oh, all right for you,” retorted Harry, flushing up, “you, buried down in the engine room! You didn’t see that boat when she burst out into a green glare. I thought sure it was that Lost Voyageur craft that they tell about.”