“The raft’s safe enough, if you behave yourselves.”
“We are behaving,” Ross retorted. “For crying out loud, what’s eating you anyhow? You’ve done nothing but crab since we left the dock.”
“You’d crab too if your boss gave orders to have a barbecue on eight hours notice! But that’s Manheim for you. Always doing things in the grand manner—only someone else has to do the work!”
Not much impressed by the caretaker’s complaints, the Cubs eagerly turned their faces toward Skeleton Island. Huge fires burned on the beach and they could hear the music of an eight-piece band.
“Say, this is going to be a shing-ding!” Ross said, pleased. “We should have a swell time tonight. Good grub, Mr. Jabowski?”
“Baked clams and lobster and roasted ox! That ought to be enough to satisfy you kids and your parents.”
“Say! Mr. Manheim’s doing all right by us,” Ross said, impressed. “We’ll have a swell time tonight.”
Although the caretaker could have landed the raft at the beach, he proceeded up-island to a dock which extended out into much deeper water.
“Hey, what’s the idea, bringing us clear up here?” Ross protested, eager to join the other boys on the island.
“Give your gums a rest, will you?” Jabowski demanded rudely. “I’m handling this raft.”