"Did you go by that thing?" I marvelled.
"Why, of course," said he.
"I forgot you were an American," said I. "You're in Canada now."
He looked his bewilderment, so I hunted up Dick. I detailed the situation. "He doesn't know the race," I concluded. "Soon he will be trying to get information out of the agent. Let's be on hand."
We were on hand. The tourist, his face very red, his whiskers very white and bristly, marched importantly to the agent's office. The latter comprised also the post-office, the fish depot, and a general store. The agent was for the moment dickering in re two pounds of sugar. This transaction took five minutes to the pound. Mr. Tourist waited. Then he opened up. The agent heard him placidly, as one who listens to a curious tale.
"What I want to know is, where's that boat?" ended the tourist.
"Couldn't say," replied the agent.
"Aren't you the agent of this company?"
"Sure," replied the agent.
"Then why don't you know something about its business and plans and intentions?"