“Just about that; but we’re getting all the fun we want out of making slower time; and our engines won’t go back on us either, in spite,” laughed the other.
“Well, while we’re gliding along in this fine way—I always like to use that word when speaking of cruising, it sounds so fine—I’ll be getting up the menu for our first dinner ashore. It makes my mouth water just to think of a campfire again, after all that time. Brought your little old Marlin along, didn’t you, Jack? P’raps we might get a few late ducks while we’re out, if all of ’em ain’t gone north by now. And if Buster only does his duty, and grabs up a fish now and then, why, it’ll be just great.”
So Josh, who used to be something of a cook in times past, amused himself in a way that suited his fancy, while they drew closer and closer to the place where the speed-boat awaited them.
George was full of boasting as usual, and predicted a record run for his craft. None of the others disputed his assertions, but they exchanged looks, for they had heard all this sort of talk before, and then seen poor disappointed George only too glad to take a tow in the end, with his engine stubborn, or broken down.
Together they continued on down the river; where they could readily tie to the bank, and go ashore to cook dinner.
There was a great deal of climbing back and forth, and everybody but George seemed bustling with business; he sat there, and pottered with his engine, as though some new idea had seized hold of him, and he meant to try one of his everlasting experiments that always ended so disastrously.
Then the voice of Buster was heard in the land, lamenting.
“It was there yesterday, because I put it in away with my own hands; and George here says he never opened that locker once; but now that I want to put it on, my new sweater has disappeared the funniest way ever. I wouldn’t be surprised, fellers, if we found that some thief got aboard our boats last night, and couldn’t resist taking that bully sweater with the red moon on the front; and that’s what!”