“Hold on before you think of that. I’m afraid there’s something wrong aboard, for Captain Amos would never stop out there on the lake—at least I never knew him to do such a thing before,” said Frank, standing up in the canoe to see better.
“Say, fellows, isn’t that smoke coming out of the cabin?” demanded Will.
“Smoke—why, perhaps the old tinderbox is afire!” ejaculated Bluff.
“Let’s paddle out and see; perhaps we can be of some help!” cried Jerry.
“Come on, then!”
“Hey! you fellers hold on; where do I come in?” shouted Will.
“You stay on the dock and get a snapshot of the whole circus!” answered the unfeeling Jerry, as he spurted away, urging his dainty craft along with rapid strokes of his spruce blade.
“Marooned, I declare,” muttered Will; “but perhaps I can improve the opportunity and get a picture that will go down in the history of steamboating on Lake Camalot.”
The three lads fairly flew over the intervening water, which was almost smooth, as the breeze hardly created a ripple on the surface.
Frank, having a larger boat to manage, fell behind a trifle; but his arms were seasoned in all manner of work, and he kept tagging along close in the rear.