“Hello!” exclaimed Nelson. “This won’t do, fellows, if we’re going to make an early rise. Come on, Dan, and help me fix up the berth for Spencer.”
So the pipe berth in the engine room was pulled out and the other beds were levied on for a pillow and blankets, and half an hour later only Tom’s snores disturbed the silence.
At half-past six the next morning the Vagabond turned her bow toward the harbor entrance, passed the light at the end of Long Point and went westward for a half-mile along the shore. Then the tender was put over and Spencer, his own attire supplemented with an extra sweater of Bob’s, jumped into it.
“If I had some line and a hook,” said Spencer gravely, “I could catch you some fish.”
“That’s so!” said Nelson. “And I think there’s fishing tackle aboard somewhere. Wait a moment and I’ll see if I can’t find it.”
“Yes,” remarked Dan casually, “and you might dig a few worms while you’re down there.”
Nelson’s enthusiasm wilted and he joined in the laugh.
“I forgot about bait,” he said. “I guess you couldn’t catch much without bait, eh, Spencer?”
“You leave me the line,” answered the boy, “and I guess I can find some bait somewheres.”
So Nelson rummaged around and found what was wanted, and when the Vagabond went chugging slowly and softly back toward the lighthouse and the harbor entrance Spencer, oars in hands, was pulling toward the outer beach. Back in the harbor Bob steered the launch up to a landing in the lee of a shed bearing the sign “GASOLINE” and made her fast. Then they set about completing their toilets, while Tom prepared breakfast. By the time that repast was ready the waterfront was wide awake and the sun was shining warmly. After breakfast the tank was emptied and refilled with what was represented to be “the best gasoline on the Cape.” As the boat’s funds were depleted to the extent of almost twenty dollars when payment had been made, there was a unanimous hope among the crew that the claim would not prove too great.