Three natty little motor boats were anchored in the broad cove, back of a jutting tongue of land that would afford them shelter should a blow spring up during the night from the northeast, something hardly probable during early August.
Near the fire a trio of other lads were taking things comfortably. One of these was Jack Stormways, the skipper of the Tramp; another Jimmie Brannagan, an Irish lad who lived in the Stormways home on the Upper Mississippi, as a ward of Jack’s father, and who was as humorous and droll as any red-haired and freckled face boy on earth; while the third fellow was Herbert Dickson, whose broad-beamed boat was called the Comfort, and well named at that.
George Rollins commanded the slender and cranky speed boat which rejoiced in the name of Wireless, and Josh acted as his assistant and cook; while Nick played the same part, as well as his fat build would allow, in the big launch.
They had spent a month cruising about the Thousand Islands, where fortune had thrown them in the way of many interesting experiences that have been related in a previous volume. Just now they were making a tour of the Great Lakes, intending to pass up through the famous Soo canal, reach Lake Superior, knock around for a few weeks, and then head for Milwaukee; where the boats would be shipped by railroad across the country to their home town on the great river.
As soon as the three wanderers arrived, laden with good things, Josh, who was the boss cook of the crowd, began to start operations looking to a jolly supper on the shore.
There were a few cottages on the other side of the little bay; but just around them it was given over to woods, so that they need not fear interruption during their evening meal, and the singing feast that generally followed.
Out in the bay a large power boat was anchored, a beautiful craft, which the boys had been admiring through their marine glasses. Possibly the flutter of girls’ white dresses and colored ribbons may have had something to do with their interest in the costly vessel, though neither Herb nor Jack would have confessed as much had they been accused.
The name of the millionaire’s boat was Mermaid, and she was about as fine a specimen of the American boatbuilder’s art as any of these amateur sailors had ever looked upon.
“Me for a swim before we have supper,” said Nick; who felt rather dusty after tumbling around so many times during his exciting experience with the bull.
“I’m with you there, Buster,” laughed Jack. “You know I’ve got an interest in your work, since I taught you how to swim while we were making that Mississippi cruise.”