[CHAPTER XIII—THE GHOST HUNTER]
“Wonder if this can be the same parties we met yesterday?” George remarked, as they watched the approach of the bustling little motor boat, which pushed over the water with a series of fierce explosions, not unlike the discharge of a pack of giant fire-crackers.
“No, I don’t think it is,” Herb spoke up, in answer. “Fellow at the wheel looks like a Canuck guide from one of the hotels, a full-blooded Indian, and the man with the glasses and the fishing rod is more like a college professor, I’d say.”
“That was just what I thought,” put in Jack.
“Anyway, we’ll soon know, for they’re coming in, as sure as anything,” Josh added.
Inside of five minutes the noisy little boat swung close to where the boys sat watching. The gentleman sitting holding the rod, and winding up his reel with a clicking sound, waved a hand in cheery greeting.
“How d’ye do, boys?” he said, cordially; and somehow Jack rather liked the tone of his voice, as he also did his looks.
“Any luck, sir?” he inquired, as is the custom at such a time.
“Had two fierce strikes; but I’m afraid I’ve lost my cunning, for I let the beggars have a slack line, and lost both. Are you fishing any? I saw two lads in little dinkies like that one yonder, fishing over by the long island, and guessed that possibly they belonged to your party.”
“Yes, they do,” George replied; and went on to tell about what luck they had had, with the usual pride of a successful fisherman.