“But I don’t see—” Dave broke in.
“You don’t see how that affects me,” the man laughed. “I happen to be an assistant national park commissioner; so this is my job. I am Colonel Colby.”
“Oh-o,” Dave breathed, “and you want us to make a trip to Isle Royale?”
“It is imperative. The pumps must go. The Iroquois is in port, but she is old and clumsy. She’d not be safe, but your boat—”
“She’d do all right, but—” Dave hesitated, “our passenger license expires tonight.”
“Passenger license!” The old man’s voice rose. “Who said anything about passengers? Of course,” he added, “I shall go with you, but—I,” he hesitated. “Well, you may ship me as freight,” he laughed heartily. “Anyway, I represent the Government.”
“All right. Bring on your pumps. We’ll run down for fresh fuel. Be back here in half an hour,” was the young skipper’s reply.
“One thing more,” he hesitated, “I hate to tell you this. You may think we’re whining, but I doubt if our credit for fuel is good.”
“I’ll attend to that also,” the colonel replied without a second’s hesitation.
“O.K. We’ll be with you in an hour.”