just by
instinct, the _Wireless_ would have gone completely over.

And Nick was always proud of what he was pleased to term his quick wit
in an emergency. It took the place of those wonderful "wings" in his
conversation; and often George had to threaten dire things unless he
called a halt in his boasting.

On Tuesday they put out together, and that night lay over about half
way down to what had been marked as Station Number Eight. Here a storm
kept them shut up a full day, so that it was Thursday again before they
proceeded.

On Saturday afternoon Jack announced the glad tidings that he believed
they had crossed the border of Louisiana. The others celebrated that
night with an extra grand feed, since Nick had managed to purchase a
couple of chickens from a man he met when George was tinkering with his
engine, and the crew had gone ashore to stretch his dumpy legs.

Now that George did not try to push his speed boat to its limit he
seemed to be having an easy time with the engine. Either that, or else
the machinist up at Memphis had done a "corking good job," as the
master often declared. And on the whole George was coming to realize
that there could be much more pleasure and satisfaction in taking
things moderately, than in being in a constant rush and nervous turmoil.

Nick was in an especially fine humor that evening. Jack had been in
the water with him after they arrived at the camping place, and, to the
great delight of the fat boy, he had discovered that he could actually
swim about as he pleased, and without wearing that cork contraption at
that. He was fairly hilarious with joy.

George had been noticing him, with something like a smile on his face.
Whatever was on his mind, he did not say anything until supper had been
dispatched, and they were grouped around the fire, chatting as usual.

Then George gave Jack a nudge on the sly.

"Watch me," he whispered.

A minute later he called out to Nick, who had just climbed to his feet
to go after his blanket, as he said the ground seemed cold.

"Wait a minute, Buster," he said; "if you're going aboard, just get
that book of funny jokes for me, will you? I think it's in the
cubbyhole where we keep our oilskins, you know. And if you don't feel
it at first, hunt around, even if you have to pull everything there is
in there out."

Just three minutes afterward there was a whoop, and an excited fat boy
came skipping off the deck of the speed boat, waving