"Poor old Buster! He's sure getting weak in the upper story," said
George.
"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.