“Say, Jack, shall I get a grip on the painter of that other boat while I’m on the raft and make her fast?” continued Josh.
“Try and see if you can, because we want to take her back with us, even if we fail to capture the men,” Jack replied.
No doubt George was bringing his Wireless alongside the raft on the other side, for he could see across, and note what the crew of the Tramp seemed to be doing.
Josh was quite active, when spurred on by excitement. When he had made a three-base hit in a game of baseball, he could stretch it to a home run better than any other fellow in town, with the shouts of the crowds to inspire him.
He began to hunt around for some place to fasten the rope, as soon as he had jumped on to the raft. This was so difficult a task, because there were many pegs showing, where the logs were held together. And besides, here and there was a heavy rope passed along, to keep the waves made by steamboats from scattering the logs, which might have been of especial value.
Josh had just managed to accomplish this, and was turning to try and get hold of the bow of the white boat, which was still bumping against the side of the raft, when a terrific splash was heard from across on the opposite edge of the logs.
“George is overboard!” whooped Josh, thinking that the impulsive one must have been in such a big hurry to gain a footing, afraid lest a chum would be ahead of him, that he had miscalculated.
“You’re wrong, it’s Andy; and he’s all to the good; climbing on the logs right now,” came in the well-known tones of the Wireless skipper, and with a touch of sarcasm connected with the words, as though George wanted them to know that he was not the only fellow who could, in his haste, make blunders.
“Sure I am!” echoed Andy, “and the wather ’tis foine, I’m tilling ye, me laddybucks. Now, George, me darlint, whereabouts shall I tie up at?”