"Hi, hi—hello!"
Pete Colliver's tremendous voice suddenly reached their ears, and, upon turning quickly, they saw the youth approaching, with another lad a bit shorter lazily bringing up in the rear.
"Well, by Jove, it's Jimmy—Jimmy of Sellade!" cried Bob, shading his eyes from the sun's bright glare.
"So it is," agreed Tim. "Oh, joy! Cheer up, Jacky; Jimmy's comin'. Guess he's heard all about the—er—er—Jabberwock, too."
"An' I don't care if he has," grunted Jack.
The crowd had made the acquaintance of Jimmy some time before. As he came from Sellade, a town where the Columbia River steamers made a landing, they often referred to him as "Jimmy of Sellade." He, like his friend Pete, was a stocky, heavily-built lad, immensely strong, but clumsy and slow.
Jimmy's features were remarkably plain, while his expression changed about as often as that of an Egyptian Sphynx—at least, Sam Randall voiced this opinion.
"I hearn tell as you was a-leavin', fellers," exclaimed Jimmy, as he came within speaking distance, "an' I says to meself, 'I'll git over an' give 'em the hand-shake all 'round.'"
"Good boy!" said Bob, approvingly.
Pete Colliver was grinning broadly. He gave a loud chuckle, and poked his chum in the ribs.