“That smacks of mutiny, methinks,” said Chub. “What do you say, Roy? Still, I’ll stay and add my feeble assistance. I choose to wipe the dishes.”
Half an hour later they were sitting on the upper deck, their feet on the railing, feeling very much at peace with the world. To be sure, the mosquitoes were somewhat troublesome, but they strove to take Chub’s advice and bear the annoyance philosophically. A white light hung from the flag-pole above the wheel-house and from the after cabin a feeble glow spread itself over the water. They had left a lighted lamp there to fool the mosquitoes.
“They’ll think we’re going to sleep in there,” explained Chub. “And after they’re all on hand, sharpening their bills, we’ll sneak down and close the door.”
“And lock it,” counseled Roy.
“And stuff up the keyhole,” added Dick. “Only thing I’m afraid of, though, is that they’ll eat up all the provisions.”
But after a while Chub was obliged to acknowledge that his plan wasn’t proving entirely successful.
