“I’m surprised to hear you say that,” laughed George.
“His clothes and his voice, to say nothing of his hair and his long legs, are a small part when you stop to think of some other things,” said John.
“What other things?”
“Now listen and we’ll tell you. We’ve about decided that the man who stays on Cockburn Island is a regular smuggler. You know those letters we found, or rather the letter that came to me and the one we picked up on the shore of Western Duck Island, don’t you?”
“Yes,” replied George and Grant together.
“Well, I suspect,” resumed Fred, “that this man Rufus wrote them both.”
“He’s almost as good a letter writer as he is a dresser, isn’t he?” laughed Grant.
“You just wait until I’m done,” retorted Fred. “That’s always the trouble in this party. Whenever I start in to give you information and try to teach you some things you need to know and don’t know, there’s always somebody that has to spoil it all.”
“We’re not spoiling it,” laughed George. “Go ahead with your story. What makes you think he wrote those letters?”
“Be quiet, me child,” said Fred, “and I will enlighten thee. We suspect Rufus wrote them because he talked almost all the way from Sault St. Marie to Cockburn Island. Even when we stopped on the shore of Mud Lake and he cooked our dinner for us he kept on talking just the same whether we were there or not.”