“You bet he isn’t!” echoed Teddy. “There are lots of worse fellows than Uncle Aaron.”
With this qualified praise, they sought out their comrades, who were almost as delighted as the 185 Rushton boys themselves were at the letter and the money order.
“It’s up to us now to get busier than ever,” remarked Lester. “It won’t do to disappoint him after raising his hopes.”
“That’s what,” replied Fred. “So get out the maps you were talking about yesterday, and we’ll lay our plans for the next week or two.”
The boys went to the room where the government maps were kept. These showed every creek and inlet and cove and indentation of the Maine coast, together with the depths of water at these points and a host of other details that were of use to seafaring men.
The boys went at them in a businesslike way, picking out those places most likely to be entered by a sailing ship, rejecting others that were difficult or dangerous to approach, until they had mapped out a program that would keep them busy for ten days to come.
Toward evening the storm gave signs of having spent its worst fury, and just before supper a rift appeared in the clouds on the western horizon.
“That looks promising,” observed Lester to Teddy, who was looking out over the water with him. “Probably it will clear up during the night and we’ll have a peach of a day to-morrow.”
“I certainly hope so,” replied Teddy. “I don’t so much mind being cooped up for one day, but after 186 that it gets kind of monotonous. The strenuous life for me, every time.”
“Yes,” agreed Lester, “one day is about my limit, too. If it’s clear to-morrow, I’ll have to go over to Bartanet to order some supplies and maybe you and the rest of the bunch will come along and keep me company.”