chugged toward shore, and a man waved to them from it. They went to meet it. The noisy motor was stilled, and the man hailed again.
"Looking for dad?" he asked. He was a tall chap of possibly twenty-two or three years with copper-red hair that curled closely about his bare head. His face was long and thin and chiefly remarkable for a lazy, good-natured, and very wide smile. The boys explained their errand while the little launch floated close to the inshore end of the wharf.
"Dad's over to Hamlin doing a job of work. But I can give you a tow. Where's your launch?" Bob told him. "Huh?" asked young Mr. Wilkins, his smile almost fading. "The old P. Q? You bought her?" They explained further. Young Mr. Wilkins looked dubious. "Don't know as I'd want to take a chance like that," he said. "S'pose the Porter folks had me pinched. May be all right, fellers, like you say, but you don't own her—"
"But we've told you that it's all right," interrupted Bob. "We wouldn't be stealing her, anyhow. All we want to do is bring her up the river and tie her up to the bulkhead down there."
