“Splendid, Josh, and I’m thinking that overhauling is going to pay us fairly well in the end. It certainly has increased the speed capacity of the boat by a mile an hour, according to my reckoning.”
“Bully for that!” ejaculated the other; “and provided we keep this same pace up for five or six hours more, whereabouts do you think we might stop over night?”
Jack must have been doing a little figuring along those same lines himself, for as Josh leaned over he put the point of his lead pencil close to a cross he had made on the chart further along.
“Providing all goes well, that’s about where we ought to fetch up on this day’s run,” he told Josh.
“Looks like we might get to the Serbian border then by another night, eh, Jack?”
“That’s possible, unless we have another accident, or get held up some way or other. While we may figure as much as we please, it’s never wise to count your chickens, Josh, before the eggs are hatched. There’s always a big IF confronting us, because we’re doing this thing under peculiar conditions, you know.”
“By that I suppose you mean the plagued old war that had to break out just when we got well started on our way?” complained Josh.
From one subject he launched into another, until he had pumped Jack dry—at least the other laughingly told him so as he scrambled to his feet, after replacing his chart in his pocket, and went over to relieve George.
The long afternoon was wearing away, and so far everything seemed to be going on all right. Buster called attention to this fact every little while, as though it occupied a prominent place in his mind.
He even allowed himself to remember that he had promised to try and duplicate his fishing feat and supply the party with a change in breakfast food.