"Just now I'm so worn out
I can't think. I wish we had Wyckoff here, I'd put it in his pockets and
then climb a telegraph pole with him and throw him down good and hard.
When he landed it would explode and he'd get his."
"Sure," laughed Frank. "Listen to the bloodthirsty Thomas. What do you
suppose would be going on up the pole all that time?"
"Well, I'd be there watching for Wyckoff and when the explosion blew him
up, I'd reach out and slap his wrist as he went sailing by."
"Well, he isn't here and probably won't be here for some time, either.
We'd better get to sleep," Jack stated. "Tomorrow bright and early we'll
get those carpenters at work. One plank is a short job and then it'll
only be a few minutes work for all hands to slap on the copper paint and
into the water she goes. We should have the Fortuna afloat before noon
if everything goes well."
"Hurray!" cried Tom. "Then we'll go up to the cabin--"
His voice lost its ringing, cheery tone as he thought of what they might
find at the cabin. No one could speak for a few minutes.
At last they composed themselves for slumber in the after cabin that the
boys liked so well. It was fitted up with souvenirs of their various
trips. Here a pair of wings from a great snowy owl that Tom had shot.
There a stuffed porcupine that caused such a commotion in their camp in
the Canadian wilds of Georgian Bay. Here were the jaw bones of a giant
muscalonge that had taken the bait at sunrise one morning as Harry was
trolling from a skiff in northern Michigan.
Pages:
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141