“Sure we’ve got all the grub aboard, Jack?” asked the said Josh, who had turned more or less red in the face with confusion at being so unexpectedly attacked, “because it’d be a mighty tough thing to get snugly settled in the first camp of the season, and find you’ve gone and left that elegant home-cured ham to home.”
“Our ham’s safe, all right; I’m looking right at it now!” declared George, as he stared at the rosy face of Josh, and chuckled aloud.
“I’ve gone over the list, and checked things off, with the help of Herb here; and so far as we could tell, there’s nothing missing. Things seem to be in good shape, after lying all winter in the boat-yard. And the engines work splendidly,” was the report of the boy named Jack, to whom the others seemed to look as though he might have some right to that title of “Commodore,” being the chief officer of the motor boat club.
They were standing on the river bank just below a small town that was situated on the Upper Mississippi; and fastened to the shore by stout cables were three power boats of vastly different patterns.
One of them, owned by George Rollins, was a speed boat, narrow of beam, and capable of doing wonderful stunts in the way of annihilating space, whenever the big powered motor chose to act decently, which happened more frequently in these days than in the past, when it used to give the skipper much trouble. This boat was known as a freak, and went under the name of the Wireless.
The second was a good, roomy craft, which George called a “punkin-seed,” because it took up so much room. Herbert Dickson was the satisfied owner of this boat, and as it bore the name of Comfort, it may readily be understood that the captain was a quiet, unassuming lad, who as a rule minded his own business, and always wanted comfort before speed. Still, it had often happened that Herb got to his destination long before George, who spent so much time tinkering with his balky engine, while that of the roomy craft had never been known to act sulky, or quit business, but worked right along like a well-oiled clock.
The third boat was a happy medium between the other two, and went under the name of the Tramp. Jack Stormways held the wheel of this, and as a rule the absent member, Jimmie Brannagan, served as the crew. The Tramp was a reliable article, and probably better fitted for cruising than either of the others, when one wanted an all-round craft, capable of speed, and yet not cramped for room, or cranky in action.