Suddenly Ed Davis leaned forward, his lean frame quivering with eagerness. For five minutes he spoke rapidly, excitedly, earnestly. Clem and the skipper listened in amazement, that changed, on Clem’s part, to narrow-eyed calculation, and finally to swift resolve.
“That’s enough!” he broke in suddenly. “Cap’n, we’ll go out on a fishin’ trip in the old Sadie, after supper to-night. If Tom ain’t—hasn’t—come home, I’ll find him. And I promise you this, on my word of honor: If I don’t change his lookout on life I’ll never show my face here again!”
The old skipper gazed at Clem with dewy eyes.
“Clem,” he said brokenly, “Clem, mebbe ye can. But, lad, it’s a man-sized job! I reckon you’ve bit off more’n ye can chew—but Heaven bless ye, lad!”
“And now for ma’s pies!” said Ed Davis, with a grin.
III.
Clem Frobisher and his chum waved farewell to the old folks and walked toward Beacon Street. The California evening was just closing down in all its swiftness.
“Ed, you go ’tend to the boat,” directed Clem, at the next corner. “Have her gas tank full, and make sure the batteries are working right. I’ll bring Tom.”
“Mebbe I’d better go along with you,” volunteered Ed.