“Wonder if he’s still alive, and if his boat and the key are still there?” he said to himself as he neared the river. “If it is, that’s the surest way to get out to Ben Zook’s island.”
A few moments’ walk brought him to the spot. The key was there in its old place and, once the door was open, Johnny found the boat in its place and in good repair. The grips of the oars were worn smooth from recent use. A warm feeling swept over Johnny at this discovery. In this ever changing world it is good to discover that an old time friend is still in the land of the living.
“Just take you out for a little exercise,” he whispered to the boat as he sent her gliding into the water.
It was a glorious night for a row. A low-hanging, golden moon, a lake that was ripply but not too rough, and balmy night air—who could ask for more? Johnny’s splendid muscles relaxed and expanded, expanded and relaxed with the harmony of a well directed orchestra.
“Fine!” he breathed, “I’ll soon be there.”
He was, too; almost sooner than he wished. He regretted the necessity of bringing this grand little trip to an end, but the hour was late.
Just as he turned to leave the boat a faint delicious odor smote his nostrils.
“Hot dog!” he exclaimed as he went racing over the rubbish heaps that lay between the shore and Ben’s cabin.
In his eagerness he forgot that Ben Zook was not expecting him.
The look of alarm which appeared on the little old man’s face as he sprang to his feet at sound of footsteps sent a stab of self-reproach to the boy’s heart.