And Pierre sank back, and gazed fixedly toward the woods.
Soon the wait became monotonous; and, thinking that beyond the road might lead toward the river, where he could get a sight of the house-boat, Pierre gave the starting lever a pull, and the big red touring car was again in motion.
Gliding slowly ahead, the chauffeur suddenly heard the sound of voices, and, on looking around, saw several shadowy figures approaching. He did not need to see their faces in order to know that they were boys. They seemed to be in high spirits.
In a few moments, the glare from the acetylene lamps revealed a number of good-natured faces staring into his own.
“Oh, look who’s here!” cried one.
“Good-evening, chaffer,” said another.
“Where are you bound for, show-fear?” chimed in a third.
Pierre stopped the machine, and shrugged his shoulders in characteristic French fashion.
“Ma foi, but these American boys are a lively lot,” he commented to himself; then aloud: “You have not, I suppose, seen a boat-house near here?”
“A boat-house?” queried one.