Josh did himself proud in preparing supper that night. And when the oven was finally opened, the delicious odor that immediately assailed the nostrils of the hungry lads sent them into the seventh heaven of delightful anticipation.
Nor was the eating of the ducks at all a disappointment. Never had they tasted anything finer in all their lives.
"Say, if mallards can touch the spot like this, what must redheads or canvasbacks be like?" demanded Nick, as he polished a leg bone handsomely, grunting his pleasure meanwhile, and perhaps inwardly sighing because there was not one whole duck apiece.
"We'll see, later on," replied Jack; "because, as we have to pass through those North Carolina sounds where such ducks can be found, there's a chance we'll take toll on the way."
"But I thought the hunting clubs had monopolized every foot of that water; and that only the wealthy New Yorkers, and ex-presidents, could shoot on Albemarle and Currituck Sounds?" remarked Josh.
"Well, pretty much all the best points are private territory now," Jack answered, frowning; "but it's possible to sneak a few shots when you're passing through on the way south. Wait and see what we can do, fellows."
"Well, one thing sure," declared Nick, admiringly; "if ever Jack Stormways pulls trigger on a canvasback, he goes along with this bully crowd, all right."
"Hear! hear!" cried the others, which caused the flattered Jack to smile and wave his hand in token of sincere appreciation.
"I reckon now," remarked George, as they sat around the blaze later on, conversing along various topics; "you've hung on to that bally old mystery all tight enough, Jack?"
"Meaning the little sealed packet the skipper of the hydro-aeroplane gave into my keeping?" the one addressed made reply. "Why, of course I have it safe; and if I manage to get through to Beaufort, I hope to hunt up the same Van Arsdale Spence, and put it in his possession."