night came on. "We don't want to miss them in the dark."
"And we don't want to run into anything either," added Sam.
"Dis ain't kvite der life on der oceans vaves vot I like," observed Hans. "I dink me after all a sail ship oder a steamer been besser, hey?"
"Yes, a sailboat or a steamer would be better just now," answered Tom. "But we have got to put up with what we happen to have, as the dog said who got lockjaw from swallowing a bunch of keys."
"Did dot dog git dot lockjaw from dem keys?" asked Hans, innocently.
"Sure he did, Hans. You see, they didn't fit the lock to his stomach, so he couldn't digest them."
"Poor dog, vot vos his name?"
"Why, his name was—er—Picker, but he couldn't pick the lock, so he died."
"Is he teat yet?"
"Is he dead—Say, Hans, what do you mean?"
"Oh, it ton't madder," answered the German boy, and walked away, leaving Tom wondering if the joke had been turned on him or not.
On and on swept the houseboat over the broad bosom of the Mississippi. Fortunately for our friends, it proved a clear night, with countless stars bespangling the heavens. They had
