It was an exhilarating ride, and thoroughly enjoyed by Matt and George. McGlory loved boats, but he had been built for a landsman, and the roll and tumble of rough water gave him unpleasant feelings in the region of the stomach.
The cowboy drew a long breath of relief when the launch battled her way into the quieter waters of the Catfish, and he sprang eagerly ashore to make the boat fast to a tree, under the lee of a steep bank.
"There's a boathouse near here," said George, when the skiff had also been secured, "and the proper move for us is to make for it and break in. The rain will be coming down in sheets before long. The boathouse belongs to a friend of mine, and he won't make much of a fuss when he knows who it was broke into the place."
Before Matt left the launch he spread the tarpaulin over it carefully and made the edges secure to the metal pins along the gunwale; then, led by Lorry, the boys made their way to the boathouse.
Forcing an entrance was not difficult, and just as the lads got inside the rain began.
[CHAPTER XII.]
HOW FATE THREW THE DICE.
There was a rough but comfortable sitting room in one end of the boathouse. Lorry, who was familiar with the place, left Matt and McGlory near the door which they had forced open, and groped his way to the sitting room, where he lighted a tin lamp.
There was a smell of stale cigarette smoke in the room, and the walls were papered with pictures of prize fighters, sailboats, race horses, and "footlight favorites," all cut from newspapers and magazines. This, and the acrid odor of cigarettes, attested sufficiently the taste of the owner of the boathouse.