Charley grinned, for Chris loved to fish with all the ardor of his race. "Go ahead," he said, "we will get along without you."
The little negro needed no second permission, and baiting his hook with a piece of bacon, and getting astride of a post, he began to fish earnestly.
The others occupied themselves in trying to make their new home as comfortable as they could with the little they had to do with. They spread their four blankets on the pile of moss, filled and trimmed their lanterns, made a rough table and some benches out of a few boards they found on the dock, and covered the broken panes in the windows with some sand-fly netting Walter had bought at the store. When all this was done and their new garments hung up on nails, the rude shack took on quite a comfortable, home-like appearance.
"It's not so bad," Charley observed. "It will do us very well until we can get better quarters."
"We have cause to be thankful," Walter agreed. "Only a few hours ago we had nothing in the world, now, we have got a dry place to stay, clothes, a supply of food, and a prospect of soon making money."
The chums' further conversation was interrupted by a rumble of a wagon and a hail from the dock. It was the man with their nets.
"Better put them inside your house until you are ready to use them," he advised. "The nets all look alike and some one might steal them from you if you left them outside. I'll be out again in about half an hour with your boats, they are anchored up the beach a way."
The boys awaited his return with eagerness for they were anxious to view their new crafts. Soon they heard the quick snapping of an engine and a large launch swung out from the beach with a string of skiffs in tow.
"My, she can move some," Charley cried as she swept towards them with a froth of foam at her bow.
"She's got good lines," announced Captain Westfield, with the certainty born of his sailor life, "she is bound to be a good sea boat with that shape."