It was nearly six o'clock before the new camp was finally put in order. The boys found the mosquitoes much fewer in number, and their surroundings in every way better than on the shore below.
"It's a pretty wide bay," observed the poet laureate; "can't see a sign of land. How small the 'Nimrod' looks."
"It ain't as big as the 'Lusitania,' that's sure," commented Nat. "Fall to, fellows. It's grub time."
When night came on, Bob added a few logs to the smouldering fire, while the Nimrods hung a number of lanterns upon convenient branches. The Ramblers merely spread their blankets upon the floor of the shanty, and turned in.
[CHAPTER XX]
ANOTHER BOAT GONE
It was a quiet summer night, not unpleasantly warm, but with no wind stirring. The boys, however, did not fall asleep with the readiness that their tired feelings led them to expect. The fire crackled and hissed, sending a fitful glare around, but its smoke seemed to have no effect in driving away the ever-increasing army of mosquitoes. A dancing host encircled each swinging lantern, and the old shanty was invaded by a perfect swarm.
"Buzz, buzz—smack, smack!" laughed Bob, as his companions slapped and hit. "Just imagine what it must be down there by the beach."
"Millions and millions of 'em," groaned Dave. Smack! "I hit that great brute. Hi! Awake there, Tom?"