“Evidently, Jerry, our ‘friendly ghost’ has sticky fingers.”
“What do you mean?” Peg inquired quickly.
Scoop told the other two about the scare that he and I had had before daylight.
“And you think it was the ghost who stole the ham?”
“Who else could it have been?”
A hungry ghost! There was humor in the thought. But our laughter was touched with uneasiness. For the ghost’s repeated visits to the boat was fast putting an edge on our nerves.
Peg had held to the troubled thought that we might have some difficulty in steering the Sally Ann through the Steam Corners lock. But we didn’t. It was as easy as pie. The lock tender, a stoop-shouldered, talkative old man, saw us [[133]]coming and had the gate open. We ran into the lock under slow power and were quickly raised to the canal’s higher level.
Just before we got to Steam Corners Red discovered that he had used up the last of the engine oil, so when we drew up at the town dock, close to the bridge, he went in search of a garage.
The rest of us busied ourselves preparing dinner. But before the meal was half ready the freckled one came into sight on the run, with a look on his spotted face that almost scared the wits out of us.
He had his can of oil in one hand and a newspaper in the other. He had picked up the newspaper in the garage where he bought the oil, he panted, pointing to a heading on the front page.