Still, what boy is ever satisfied with what has happened in the past? The present and the near future is what engages his attention and excites his interest. Even sensible Rob Blake secretly sighed when he contemplated having to put in the whole summer around the home town while Tubby Hopkins was having such a glorious time out there on the Coast; and his other chum, Merritt Crawford, was up in Canada with his folks at a camp.
It was a beautiful and warm day in the early summer. The sun shone from an unclouded sky, but there was enough sea breeze to fan their heated brows, and to make them think that there could be few things equal to being in a speedy little motorboat, spinning over the surface of that lovely land-locked bay, with the ocean booming on the outer edge of the sandy strip to the south.
They could have quite an extended view from far out in the bay, with the houses scattered along the shore, and the white sails of pleasure craft or fishing and clamming boats dotting the water far and near.
Just ahead of them the old launch that had seen better days was churning up the water with its noisy propeller, though not making remarkable headway at that. As the two scouts gradually drew up on the Sea Gull, they made out that besides the ancient skipper there was just one passenger aboard.
“Why,” said Andy Bowles presently, as this person chanced to turn his face toward them by accident, “that must be the old gent I saw drop off the nine-thirty train from New York this morning when I was heading for your house. Yes, and now I think of it, I heard him ask Dan Trotter at the station where Judge Collins lived, and how he could get to his house at the Point.”
“Some friend of the Judge, then,” suggested Rob; “and I guess he has a host of them here and abroad; for he’s wealthy, and interested in all sorts of scientific matters. They say that at his city house in the winter he entertains, at times, all the big guns from the different colleges of the world.”
“Which reminds me, Rob. There was an odd twang in this old fellow’s manner of speech that made me think of Sandy Ferguson, the Scotchman who has the bagpipes, you remember, and always insists in marching in all the parades in Hampton.”
“Then, perhaps, he’s some famous Scotch professor,” observed the skipper of the Tramp, “who wants to see the judge so much that he’s chased away out here to his summer home on invitation.”
“He has a red face, wears big glasses, and is scrawny enough for a Scotchman, anyway,” chuckled Andy, “but do you know I always like to listen to one of the Highland folks talk. It was the ‘burr’ in his speech that made me stop and listen as far as I did. He’s got it down pat, Rob.”
“Don’t say anything more now, Andy; we’re drawing up pretty close, and he might not like it if he thought we were talking about him. That old motor does make lots of noise, but sometimes it misses, and then there’s a lapse, you know.”