Motor Boat Boys on the St. Lawrence

“It’s going to be a strait-jacket for him before long!” sighed Josh.

But Jack spoke not a word; for he could somehow see further than the rest of the boys, and understood that Nick held a strong hand.

“Oh! is that the way you’re thinking?” said the fat boy, still trembling with the violence of his excitement. “Just wait till I read this little letter, and then if you’re honest you’ll do the right thing by poor old Buster.”

“He’s going to read Rosie’s little note to us, fellows!” cried Josh, pretending to be horror-stricken at such a base betrayal of confidence.

“Who said it was from Rosie, or any girl at all?” demanded Nick, indignantly. “Look at the name signed at the bottom, and you can read Aleck. Yes, it’s from my old friend, Aleck Sands. I wrote him a week ago, when that bright thought first dazzled me. And you remember, when Josh here gave me that start by talking through that old rusted tin water pipe? Well, that made me believe harder than before that I’d got on the track.”

“Read the letter, plague take you, Nick!” roared impatient George; “don’t you see you’re giving some of us heart disease right now, with your everlasting slow way of getting at things.”

So Nick, assuming a posture that, according to his mind signified the attitude of a victor awaiting the laurel wreath, began in his slow way.

“Dear Buster:

“As soon as I got your interesting letter I hit it up for the school house. Found old Crusty Bill Edwards hard at work, and had to bribe him to let me get in. Went up to the little room where we hold our club meetings. Yes, you were right, Buster; the register from the furnace in that room does back into the cloak room. Found both of ’em shut, but got old Bill to stand in the club room while I opened the registers, and then listened in the cloak closet while he talked to himself. And Buster, why, say, I could near hear the old man think, every sound came through that hole so plain. If you fellows talked about your plans that day you were there, and Clarence was hiding in the cloak room, make up your mind, old chap, he heard every word you said; In a hurry so I’ll ring off.

    “Yours, Aleck.”

As Nick read the last word he paused and looked expectant. His motor-mates stared at one another as though for the moment rendered incapable of speech. The cleverness of the fat boy’s deduction was stunning; had it sprung from Jack, now, they might not have considered it so very wonderful; but to think that Buster, always so slow to grasp anything, could have done it, fairly staggered them.

Jack was the first to recover. Laughingly he dropped on one knee beside Nick, and seizing the fat hand of the victor he pretended to kiss it with due humility.

The others entered into the spirit of the occasion; and right there on the dock, regardless of the stares of passersby, the five clung around the grinning Buster, begging him to forgive their thick-headedness, and restore them to favor.

Nick of course, enjoyed the game most heartily, and laughed himself into a fit of choking, as he raised his chums, one by one, and tapped them on the head in token of his pardon.

“However did you come to think of it?” asked George, a little later, as they were once more aboard their boats, and ready to start forth in search of new adventures.

“I dreamed about it, and that’s the truth,” declared Nick, solemnly; nor could they ever get him to change his assertion. “Woke me right up in the middle of the night too. Thought I saw Clarence peekin’ through a hole, and laughing to beat the band; and then I saw the silly crowd in the next room. That gave me an idea, and started me to thinking. I believed I remembered that register, and had an idea there was another one just back of it opening into that cloak room. Now you don’t blame me for wanting to get that letter, do you?”

“I should say not,” declared George frankly. “Why you’ve just covered yourself with glory, Buster. After this, when anything mysterious happens, we’ll turn to you to guess the answer. You ought to be a lawyer, sure.”

“Or a revenue man,” suggested Herb.

“Guess Buster’d like to be the head steward on a big Atlantic liner best of all,” was the wicked remark of the envious Josh.

But the fat boy was in a jolly frame of mind, and could not be provoked by any sort of fling just then. He turned to his tormentor, and smiling sweetly, remarked:

“Josh knows my weak point; but then you fellows understand that it’s only green envy that makes him say such things. Right now he’d give almost anything if only he had my honest appetite. I never make faces at my meals. Why, I’m ready for one right at this present minute, fellows.”

“Well,” said Jack, “let’s get off a few miles from Clayton before we think to start the stoves going. Perhaps we’ll find a nice quiet place where we can go ashore, and do the cooking stunt. This place is too thickly populated to make a show of ourselves to the gaping natives.”

“Now, I know you mean me when you say that, Jack,” observed Nick, reproachfully. “But while I confess that I’ve got a bully good appetite, I hope I don’t disgrace the bunch when I join in the eating game. Herb, are we ready to start? While we are moving along I’ll try and hatch up a new dish out of my new book here, that will make your mouths water.”

“If Herb was wise he’d have drowned that cook book long before this,” muttered Josh, as George gave his engine a fling and immediately started away in the lead.

The three motor boats kept close company. George had apparently experienced all the running on ahead he wished, during that previous memorable cruise down the Mississippi; and was content after rushing half a mile in the lead to slow down and let the others catch up with him.

He was in great spirits this morning. That wonderful little race in the moonlight on the preceding night, with its successful termination, had made him fall in love with his cranky speed boat more than ever. He could hardly talk intelligently about anything else; and finally the others declared that he was even a worse sinner in that respect than Nick had ever been.

The day was sunshiny, and everything around them seemed joyous, so it was not to be thought strange that the motor boat boys were every little while bursting out in snatches of song, or exchanging joking remarks as the boats chanced to close up.

“Wonder if we’ll ever hear from the gentleman again?” Herb was saying, as they later on headed for a bit of lonely shore, where it seemed inviting to campers.

“If you mean Mr. Carson,” Jack replied, “I’m sure we will, for he gave his promise; and a man like him never goes back on his word. I’ve an idea he means to send us some little thing to put in our clubroom, to remember the adventure by.”

“As if we’d be likely to ever forget it?” laughed George, patting his throbbing motor affectionately.

“I’ve thought up that new mess, fellows!” called out Nick, just then.

Everybody groaned in unison.

“You know we’ve always had Boston baked beans and coffee for lunch whenever we got a chance to go ashore at noon. All right. I’m for progress. I like to vary our meals some. Let’s turn things upside down, and right around. If you agree, then today let the bill of fare be coffee and Boston baked beans.”

“Bully for Buster! He’s the one bright mind in the bunch!” laughed George.

“We can have a new dish every day at that rate, fellows!” sang out Herb.

And so, joking and laughing in this way, they ran close in, found a deep place to anchor the three motor boats, and began to get ashore with such things as they needed for the meal.

The future looked very bright to those six jolly fellows just then, with never a cloud in sight. Presently they hoped to be hearing the returns from home, when they would know whether their plan for an extended cruise was looked upon favorably by the powers that controlled their destinies.

But no matter what the outcome of that proposition might be, they did not mean to worry over anything. The great St. Lawrence was an ideal cruising place, and doubtless if they were forced to stay there during the balance of the summer they could find plenty of amusement in the way of fishing, racing, and exploring.

Only Josh solemnly expressed the hope that in their “nosing around,” as he called it, they might not happen upon another haunted island. Once spelled enough for him; and there was no telling but that on another occasion the ghost might prove to be more real than the one manufactured by Glenwood and his fellow smugglers, to frighten the owners of the three motor boats away from their pet cove.

There was always the chance that sooner or later they would again run across Clarence Macklin and his crony, Bully Joe Brinker. George would be only too glad of another opportunity to test his beloved Wireless against the very best that the Flash could put forth.

“Make up your mind, George,” said Jack, when his chum was mentioning this thing one day. “You never would get that tricky Clarence to acknowledge your boat to be better than his. If you beat him six times he’d have six good excuses ready, and each one different from all the rest. Whoever caught him with the goods on, and made him confess? A fellow he didn’t know stopped him and stuck the things in his pocket. He was right then on the way to hand them over to the police. Don’t you remember when he said that? Well, you may have your race, and win out handsomely, but don’t expect Clarence to hand you an honest admission that his boat ran second.”

“I don’t,” grinned George; “but I’d like to race him all the same; and I only hope the chance comes along, sooner or later.”

Perhaps it would, for stranger things were likely to happen to the motor boat boys than that they would run across Clarence again during their outing days.

“I saw him in Clayton when ashore,” remarked Jack. “He was talking with a man who, from his soiled clothes, I’d take to be an engineer, or something like that.”

“Sure,” laughed George, evidently pleased. “Knowing that in her present condition the Flash is no match for my bully boat, he’s going to see if she can’t be improved somehow, so as to squeeze just a little more speed out of her. Huh! perhaps I might do something of that kind myself. But just wait and see, fellows. If there is another race between us it’s going to be for keeps.”

When some time later their mail began to arrive from home it might be judged from the excitement and congratulations to be heard that favorable replies were coming in from headquarters. And that this was really the fact, the reader who has been interested in the fortunes of Jack and his chums thus far, will take for granted, when he learns that the title of the next volume in this series, already published, and ready for his enjoyment, is: “The Motor Boat Boys on the Great Lakes; or, Young Pilots to the Rescue.”

THE END