Motor Boat Boys Down the Danube; or, Four Chums Abroad

As soon as the landing was effected Buster waddled clumsily ashore.

“I hope somebody will have the kindness now to get that blaze started right away,” he was saying; “I’d do it myself, but I’m afraid all the matches I had in my pocket must have been soaked, and they wouldn’t light easy.”

“I’ll take care of the fire, and do the cooking tonight in the bargain if you want me to, Buster,” Josh told him.

“That’s kind of you, Josh, and I won’t forget it in a hurry, either. Fact is this arm of mine pains a little too much for me to sling the pots and skillets around in my customary way. But fry me two eggs, remember, Josh; I’d say three if nobody kicked up any sort of a row.”

“You shall have them, Buster,” Josh told him; “because the chances are we can pick up as many as we want as we go along.”

“But no fish for supper tonight, how’s that?” George demanded, trying to frown at Buster.

“Oh, well, nobody really promised you any,” the latter explained. “But if there are any fat grubs in some of those rotten stumps around here I’m meaning to have a line out with three hooks to-night, and mebbe, George, you can indulge in fresh fish for breakfast. Will that do?”

“Guess I’ll have to make it; besides, ham and eggs suits my taste well enough this time. I’ll forgive you, Buster, only be careful not to get our mouths watering for fish again when it’s only a floating log you’ve caught.”

Josh was already busy with the fire. He had long since graduated in this department of woodcraft, and knew about all there was going in connection with fires of every description.

Then, too, he could cook in a way to make the mouths of his chums fairly water. Josh had a way of browning things so cleverly that they were unusually attractive, where so many boys more careless would frequently burn whatever they had on the fire, and in a happy-go-lucky fashion dub it “pot-luck.”

“One thing sure,” said Jack, as they sat around waiting for the call to supper, “we’re a lucky set to have two such willing workers with the pots and pans as Buster and Josh here.”

“That’s right,” declared George, agreeable for once; “it would be hard to find their match, search where you will. What one lacks the other makes up for, and the opposite way around too. And we want them to know we appreciate their services, don’t we, Jack?”

“Come, now, no taffy, George,” said Josh, though his eyes sparkled under praise from such a source; “as they used to say in olden days, beware the Greeks who come bearing gifts. And when you get to praising anything there must be a deep motive back of it.”

“There is,” assented George frankly, “a very deep motive, for I’m hollow all the way down to my heels, seems like. Sure the grub must be done by now, Josh. That’s a good fellow, ring the bell for us to gather round.”

Whenever these lads were sitting about the camp fire they always had plenty of fun on tap. If “jabs” were given at times it was done with such good-natured chaff that no one could get provoked.

So they started to discuss the supper Josh had prepared. Meanwhile Buster had managed to dry himself after a fashion by turning around near the fire, presenting first one side and then another to the heat. He likened himself to a roast fowl on the spit, and jokingly asked the others how they would have him served.

“After I’m all through eating my share of the excellent mess Josh here has provided for us,” Buster remarked, when his mouth chanced to be empty, which was not often, by the way, “I know what I mean to do.”

“Oh, anybody can guess that the first shot out of the locker,” George asserted; “that is if they know what a fellow you are for remembering things. Of course you mean to smash some of these rotten stumps, and find out if they contain any grubs. Stumps are fine for holding the same, I understand; at least over where we live; and I guess grubs are grubs the world over.”

“Yes, that’s what I’m aiming to do,” Buster admitted. “Just because I had the hard luck to be dragged overboard by a measly old log, don’t think I’m the one to be scared off. If there are any fish in this Danube River, and they like bait such as I can offer them, we’re bound to have a mess for breakfast.”

“Hurrah! That’s the ticket!” cried Josh; “if at first you don’t succeed try, try again. I plainly perceive that my honors as boss fisherman are going to be put in peril if this thing keeps on. I’ll sure have to get out a line myself, and run you a race, Buster.”

“Wish you would,” snapped the other, as though this just suited him.

“You remember,” continued Josh, “we had some pretty tall rivalry in that line once or twice before. Never mind who came out first best; that’s ancient history, and pretty musty by now. You find enough worms and I’ll get a rig ready, Buster.”

George rubbed his hands as though the prospect looked pretty bright to him. With two ardent anglers engaged in a warm contest to see who could do the better in the way of making captures, those who loved fresh fish might expect to be well taken care of.

When the supper had been disposed of, and every one declared he felt “full to the brim,” Buster secured the little camp hatchet they had been wise enough to fetch along with them, and which had been a useful adjunct on many past outings.

With this in hand he started to attack some of the old stumps that could be seen scattered around. Josh felt considerable interest in his labors, as from time to time he could be heard calling out, and asking what the score was.

“Got three dandies in that stump,” Buster presently made answer, “and here’s a whole nest of bigger ones than the others. Say, we’re fixed all right, my friend, so far as plenty of attractive bait goes. I can see a lovely time among the finny tribes when some of these fat boys get in the drink. They’ll actually fight among themselves for a chance to bite; especially if you spit on your hook after impaling the grub.”

By the time he had placed a full dozen of the victims of his hunt in the little can that had contained sardines at one time, Buster pronounced himself ready to begin serious operations.

Josh had in the meantime managed to get his line ready just as Buster finished his work; George told him it looked suspiciously as though he had been “soldiering,” and meant to let his rival do all the work; but gallant Buster, hearing all this talk, immediately came to the rescue.

“And why shouldn’t Josh take it easy, after going to all the trouble to prepare that fine supper?” he demanded. “You’ve got a bad habit, George, of looking a gift horse in the mouth, and the sooner you break yourself of it the better. Now, come along Josh, and let’s find a good place for throwing our lines out into the river.”

“We’re not going to be partial or play favorites,” warned Jack, laughingly; “may the best man win; but please don’t try to give us any more planked shad, Buster, you hear!”

CHAPTER VII

WHEN THE STORM CAME

As Buster had taken a survey of the situation before darkness came along, he knew of a promising point close at hand. Here they could toss their lines out, and let the current drag them partly down-stream.

It was not the kind of fishing that the boys preferred, because they were accustomed to using jointed rods, and even casting artificial flies with which to lure the frisky trout or the hard-pulling black bass to their destruction. But as Buster wisely declared, “When you’re fish hungry you’ve just got to shut your eyes and get ’em any old way; results are what count then, not methods.”

Presently Buster had a savage bite, and drew in a squirming victim. He eyed this in the light of the rising moon and then remarked:

“I don’t know the species that fellow belongs to, but he looks good to me, and all I hope is there are a lot of his uncles and his cousins and his aunts hanging around, anxious for grub bait. Hello! Got one, have you, Josh? Bully for you! Whew! He’s a scrapper in the bargain, I tell you. I hope he doesn’t break loose, and give us the grand laugh!”

Buster’s interest was so taken up with what was going on near him that he forgot his own line for the time being, until a quick summons at the other end announced that one of the said finny relations seemed anxious to follow the first victim to the shore.

Then both boys were kept busy pulling in hand over hand. They succeeded in landing both prizes, which fact made them very joyful.

“Only needs one more to complete the first circle, though I think I’d like two for my share, Josh, and so might all the rest. You see there’s a heap of waste when you come to take off the head and tail. Let’s hurry up and get ’em while the bitin’s good. You never can tell when fish will quit takin’ hold.”

It was certainly less than half an hour after they first started off when the two sportsmen came strolling back to the bright camp fire dangling a pretty string of still lively fish between them on a little pole.

“Two apiece, and one left for luck!” announced Buster, triumphantly, as the other fellows jumped to their feet with expressions of pleasure to look the catch over.

“They ought to be cleaned right away, and a little salt rubbed inside so they’ll keep nice and fresh over night,” said Josh, “so let’s get busy, Buster.”

“But don’t you think that ought to be our part of the business?” asked George, although there was not very much animation in his manner, for George hated to handle the job of cleaning fish, though when it came to eating them no one ever knew him to make any objection.

“Now that’s kind of you, George, to offer to do the thing for us,” observed Buster, sweetly; “especially since we know how you detest the job. Thank you, but as our hands are in, Josh and me can attend to them all right.”

Josh, however, did not look overly well pleased when he heard Buster say this. Truth to tell, he had already arranged it in his wicked heart that George should be trapped into “doing something for his keep.”

“We’ll let you off this time, George,” he remarked, pointedly, “but the very next batch of fish we haul in you can tackle the job.”

George only chuckled, and drew a sigh of relief. Perhaps he may have said to himself that sometimes people count their chickens before they are hatched, and that possibly there might never be another “batch;” remembering the story of the small boy who while eating an apple, upon being appealed to by an envious comrade to give him the core, told him “there ain’t a-goin’ to be any core, Jimmy.”

In due time the fish were laid away in a safe place where no roving animal was apt to discover and appropriate them. Buster might in his happy-go-lucky fashion have been careless in this particular, but shrewd Josh was far too smart to take unnecessary chances.

“We don’t know anything about the country around here,” he told the others. “They may have wild animals, and again p’raps there’s nothing of the kind to be feared. But it’s best to lock the stable before the horse is stolen.”

So the fish were kept aboard the boat, although from time to time George might have been observed to sniff the air suggestively as he prepared to sleep, plainly indicating that he disliked the fishy smell. But then George always was what Josh called “finicky” in his habits, and the rest seemed to pay little or no attention to things that annoyed the particular one.