happen. Happily, the man to whom he was talking seemed capable of seizing on facts, and building a plan of campaign instantly.
“Telegraph the agent of the steamboat Company to let me have the boats. I happen to know him very well – his name is James Matthews. Then forget all about the matter, boys. Depend on me! Your boats will be guarded, day and night, every minute of the time until you arrive. That is all. Goodbye!”
“Hurrah for Amos!” exclaimed George when his chum had related what the man in Clayton had said. “He’s all to the good! That was a bright thought of yours, Jack, when you suggested going to ask my father’s advice!”
“But let’s get back to the others,” laughed Jack, as they paid the bill and left the telephone office; “for they’ll be burning up with anxiety to know what’s going on.”
“Yes,” grinned George, now as happy and light-hearted as he had previously been gloomy, and oppressed with fears. “By now poor Buster will have lost a pound or two in weight. He’s the greatest fellow ever to fret over things.”
At that Jack fairly shouted.
“I know another of the same breed, George, and you can’t deny it,” he said.
“Oh! well, what’s the use?” admitted the other. “I know I do see mountains often, that turn out to be ant hills when you get up close. But I’m feeling particularly jolly right now. Bully for Amos. Won’t we shake him by the hand till he yells out for mercy. His name will be emblazoned on the annals of our St. Lawrence cruise as the best friend the motor boat club had, barring none.”
Of course, they were set upon as soon as they entered the den in the top story of the Stormways home, and made to tell what had happened. When the balance of the club learned how neatly a spoke had been put in the wheel of Clarence, they voted thanks to Mr. Edison for all he had done in the interests of modern science.
And it can be set down as positive that those lads spent a much more healthy Sunday than would have been the case had their minds still wrestled with the problem of what the mysterious message sent by Clarence stood for.
Then came the final morning when they were scheduled to leave the home town, headed for the far distant Clayton, to begin their summer vacation.
A score and more of boys were at the station to see them depart, besides those persons who constituted the various families of the club members. Their baggage was properly seen to, and then the last goodbyes said. Clarence and his crony, Joe Brinker, came sauntering along, and stood watching the passing of the expedition.
“He can’t just help grinning all the time,” Buster said aside to Herb, as they were waiting at the car steps for Jack and George, still talking with a group of friends.
“Sure he is,” replied George, looking out of the corner of his eye, “and every little while he says something to Bully Joe that tickles him to beat the band. But we can afford to keep quiet, because we happen to know how the game is going. I’m putting my faith in Amos right along; he’s going to make good.”
“But why ain’t Clarence and Joe starting, too?” demanded Nick at this juncture.
“Oh! they’re too sly for that, you see,” George replied, knowingly, his lawyer blood standing him in good stead. “Like as not they’ve got through tickets right through Chicago, while we stop over in Milwaukee. And even if they slip away this afternoon they could get to Clayton as soon as we do.”
“There’s the conductor calling ‘all aboard!’ We’re off, fellows!” cried Buster, as he started to climb up the steps of the car, an operation that required more labor on his part than in the case of more agile lads.
The entire bunch grouped on the last platform of the parlor car at the end of the train, and as they pulled out, waved their hats in salute to the cheering of the crowd at the station.
Faster went the train, and presently a turn hid the home town from the sight of the six vacationists. If any of them felt badly over parting from loved ones they succeeded in concealing the fact as they passed inside to take their seats, and while looking from the windows at new scenes, lay delightful plans concerning the glorious time they anticipated would be their portion when they got fully started on their St. Lawrence river cruise.
CHAPTER V – THE GUARDIAN OF THE FLEET
“Well, here’s the steamboat dock, all right; but I don’t see anything of our boats!” exclaimed George, as he and his five chums came to a full stop close to the local office of the lake line running to Buffalo, Milwaukee and Chicago.
“Oh! dear me, I hope we don’t have trouble, after all,” started Nick.
“Here, let up on that misery whine, Buster. Will you ever learn never to squeal till you’re hurt?” said Josh.
“Well, if you’d lost as much flesh as I have lately, you’d be a nervous wreck too,” replied the fat boy, aggressively.
“If I’d lost all you say you have, there wouldn’t be anything more of me left than a grease spot, and that’s right!” grinned Josh.
“What shall we do, Jack?” and Herb turned to the one upon whom they usually depended to steer them clear of the shoals.
“Well, here’s the office right handy,” replied Jack, smiling. “Suppose we crowd inside, and make the agent give up some information. He ought to know what’s happened to our boats, because we understood they got here safe.”
“A bully idea, Jack; you’re the goods when it comes to doing the right thing!” Josh remarked.
Accordingly they fell in line, and rushed into the little office, where a gentlemanly fellow, who was working at some freight accounts, in his shirt sleeves, because of the heat of the day, glanced up in more or less surprise.
“We’re looking for some motor boats, sir, that arrived on the vessel from the west. They were billed from Milwaukee by your line.”
As Jack said this the agent smiled.
“Which one of you wired our Mr. Matthews?” he asked.
“I did. My name is Jack Stormways,” replied that individual.
“You gave him authority to turn the three boats over to some party, didn’t you?”
“Yes, if that party’s name was Mr. Amos Spofford,” Jack replied.
“All right. We gave them into his keeping. Let me see, that was last Saturday afternoon about one o’clock he was here,” the other went on.
“But,” Jack remarked, blankly, “we’ve been looking all around, and have seen no sign of our boats on the wharf.”
“And they couldn’t have flown away like aeroplanes,” put in Josh.
“I should hardly think so,” laughed the other. “But have you looked beyond the end of the dock, in the water?”
“No. Do you mean to say Mr. Spofford had the three boats launched?” cried Jack.
“Well, there was something doing that way, I remember, on Saturday. He had quite a gang of men working under him. That Mr. Spofford seems to be something of a hustler. Over toward that point, boys.”
They were already trooping
