Will was fussing around, doing something or other. He always made so much bustle whenever he had anything on hand that his chums frequently called him an "old woman," but this never seemed to bother the ardent photographer, who pursued his way in spite of laughter or ridicule.
After a while he came and sat down near where Frank was arranging the three little single blue-flame stoves that formed the cooking range of the boat.
"I was just thinking, Frank," said he, "that I've never heard you say a word about that mysterious packet your father entrusted to you before we left home."
"Well, I've often thought about it as I felt it in my pocket, but you see there's nothing to be done until we sight Cedar Keys. Then I'll break the seal and read further directions," replied Frank.
"Of course you've speculated about it?" went on Will.
"Lots of times, but always arrived at the same old point—that I couldn't guess in a year what it meant," laughed the other.
"Do you think it could be a joke?" asked Will.
"Never. My dad was too serious when he gave it to me; and besides, he never jokes like that. We must wait a little while, and then learn the truth. Depend on it, he had a good reason for what he did. I expect we'll get something of a big surprise."
"There comes Bluff, and I really believe the fellow's got some oysters opened, by the way he carries that kettle," said Will.
"And just look at the expression on his face, will you? A fellow who had won a first prize in school could hardly seem more tickled."