Jack might have kept still, and allowed his chums to heap honors on his unworthy head; but that was not his style.
“Hold on, you’re doing me too much credit, boys,” he observed frankly. “I took to this cove just because it looked good to me, and never for a minute thinking how it would serve us in case of a blow. But just as Herb says, we are protected here, and that’s another reason for not changing, as Nick hinted we should do.”
They ate supper before the dusk turned into night, and the whippoorwills were calling from back on the wooded island, to be answered from the further Canada shore.
The three boats were close enough together to allow the boys a chance to exchange any remarks they wished.
“Better get ready in case we have a downpour tonight,” remarked Jack, as he cast a look upward to where the moon was just starting to peep out from behind a threatening bank of clouds.
“For one I’m glad I got that hole in my tent mended in time,” observed Herb.
“Me too,” spoke up Buster, “because, you see, it was so nicely fixed right over my poor head. Think of a stream turned on while you slept! Ugh! when I take my cold baths I’ll choose my time.”
“I’ve known when you didn’t all the same,” ventured George, chuckling.
“That’s mean of you,” Buster replied, reproachfully, “bringing up old happenings. Yes, I did fall overboard into the river; but who wouldn’t, in that cranky speedy boat of yours, shivering and jumping to beat the band. Why, hello! what ails Josh there?”
“Yes, what are you staring so hard at, Josh?” demanded George, turning his head.