CHAPTER I
THE “SALLY ANN”
It was summer vacation when this happened. We had been swimming in the fourth quarry and had stopped at Dad’s brickyard canal dock on the way home.
Scoop Ellery, our leader, reached for a rock the size of his fist and sent it crash-bang! against the side of an old clay scow that was moored to the dock.
“If I had money enough,” he grinned, “I’d buy that old tub and have some fun with it.”
Red Meyers scratched his freckled nose.
“What kind of fun?” he wanted to know, wondering, I guess, what use one could make of the weather-beaten old scow.
“Well,” considered Scoop, cocking his eyes at [[2]]the scow, “it would make a swell houseboat, for one thing.”
“Let’s do it,” I promptly encouraged, picturing to myself the dandy fun that we could have in the Tutter canal with a houseboat. Hot dog! “Dad won’t care,” I hurried on. “Honest. For he told me that he was going to drag the scow out of the water and knock it to pieces.”
Here Peg Shaw, our big chum, came into the conversation.