Buster stalked around the interior of the fine boathouse as if trying to throw his own thoughts into another channel.
All around the sides of the structure the splendid and expensive water craft lay, the larger boats on the floor, and smaller canoes and shells up on racks arranged especially for their occupation.
Bones Shadduck made himself as comfortable as possible, using a quantity of burlap that had come around the latest addition to the fleet, the new eight-oared shell.
"Two hours, hey?" he grunted, as he settled down; "that's only time for a dozen winks. But I'm a sound sleeper, old chap, and I'll make the most of it. If anything happens don't wake me too suddenly, you know. I'm some apt to get excited if you do, and pitch in like a wildcat, regardless."
"Which will be a bad thing for you then," remarked Buster, holding up something suggestively.
"What d'ye call that?" demanded the other, opening his eyes again to satisfy his suddenly aroused curiosity.
"Well, it's what they call in the circus a stuffed club. Won't hurt a lot, but you can knock a man down with it. And I've practiced using the thing until I'm just about perfect," replied Buster, calmly.
"If you ever hit me with that thing, and I find it out I'm going to retaliate, hear me!" and grumbling
