“Hello, Jack!” he said. “Hello, boys! Where’s your engine?”
“Over in Jersey, I’ll bet,” answered Jack, in a disgusted tone. “Sit down, Jim. What do you think of this—great, eh?”
“It’s swell, that’s what it is,” said Jim, slowly, as he looked around. “Fine as most any room in town. Bless me! Wish’t I was a youngster ag’in. I’d go with you.”
“They said the engine would be here this morning,” grumbled Jack.
“Well, the morning ain’t half over yet,” said Jim, consolingly. “Ain’t this here b’ilin’ weather, though?”
He settled himself comfortably on the bench, and prepared to take a good, long rest.
The morning passed. Jim ate his lunch, while the boys wandered off in search of the nearest store. When they returned, hot and tired, the wharf wore a deserted look.
Jim and “Confusion,” as Fred Winter had taken the liberty of calling the pup, were taking a nap, but both promptly awoke when Joe Preston hit the door a resounding bang with his fist.
“Sorry,” mumbled Joe, apologetically. “Such things will happen on house-boats.”
About three o’clock, when hope had been given up, a two-horse team rumbled over the wharf, and Jack gave a loud cheer.