"Looky there, what's that over yonder on the water—gulls?" called Nick, after they had been moving along in procession for some time, the Tramp leading the way—for George realized that he must curb his speed propensity while navigating these deceptive shallow waters, unless he wanted to take chances of wrecking his beloved craft on an unseen oyster reef, or a sandbar that lay just below the surface.
"I reckon they're ducks," quoth Josh, after a look. "How about it, Jack?"
Jack did not have to even make use of the glasses before replying in the affirmative.
Nick was all excitement at once.
"Say, why can't we sneak up on 'em, and knock about six on the head?" he hastened to demand; and then stooped down to drag out George's shotgun; at which the others shouted to him to be careful, for he was making the boat wobble fearfully.
"Well, we might give them a try," said Jack, with a smile; "but even if we did manage to bag a bunch, I reckon now, you wouldn't think them worth cooking."
"Why not; I've heard that even fishy ducks can be eaten, if you take the trouble to draw the feathers and skin off together?" Nick declared.
"Which is correct, all right, as far as it goes," Jack continued, placidly; "but I'd defy even such an expert as Josh here, to cook those ducks so as to disguise the woody flavor!"
"Haw! haw! haw! Jack means they're only a bunch of wooden decoys—stool ducks!" roared Josh, some of the others echoing his merriment. "Perhaps you c'n digest pretty near anything, you're such a walking cemetery, Nick; but I bet you draw the line at a wooden duck, hey?"
Nick relapsed into silence, but George took up the talk.