“I tell you what to do,” Bud suggested, without any seriousness of intent, however. “Make a dash over the lake in your father’s motor boat and rescue this Robinson Crusoe.”
“By Jiminie, Bud!” exclaimed Cub enthusiastically! “You’ve hit the nail on the head. Our vacation problem is solved. That’s what we’ll do, all of us. I don’t care whether it’s a joke or a tragedy; we’ll make a voyage of discovery over that way and see if we can’t find Crusoe’s island. What say you, fellows?”
Talking It Over
What could the fellows say?
They couldn’t say anything at first, so astonished were they at the announcement from Cub. Then so great was their eagerness, following the recovery from their astonishment that about all they could do was to “fall over each other” in their efforts to express their approval.
At last, however, the “panic of joy” subsided, and they began to sift out the obstacles that must naturally obtrude themselves in the way of such a scheme that involved such departure from the ordinary course of events.
“Do you think your father will let us go?” asked Hal somewhat apprehensively.
“We’ve taken trips alone before,” Cub reminded.
“Yes, but only for short trips along the shore or up the canal,” Hal replied. “Ontario’s a rough lake, you know.”
“Yes, but safe enough if you’re used to it,” Bud reasoned, coming to the aid of his lanky friend. “If necessary, we could follow the bend of the shore all the way and never get out of sight of land.”
“That would make the trip longer and consequently take so much more time to get there,” reasoned Cub.
“Time’s precious in a case like this,” Hal averred. “Remember that we must get up there in time to save a fellow with no food on hand from getting an empty stomach.”
“How long would the trip take?” asked Bud.
“Well, let’s see,” said Cub, picking up a pencil and beginning to figure on a tab of paper before him. “The Catwhisker can make twelve miles an hour under favorable conditions. We could start early in the morning and reach the Thousand Islands surely by noon, and then have the rest of the day to hunt for Mr. Robinson Crusoe.”
“It might be like hunting for a needle in a haystack,” suggested Hal dubiously.
“Why shouldn’t we be able to find him?” Cub demanded.
“It depends on how well Mr. Crusoe can describe his surroundings for us and how well we can follow directions,” Hal argued.
“That’s true enough,” Cub admitted. “Let’s see if I can get ’im again and what he can tell us.”
He had no difficulty in picking up the “desperate Mr. Crusoe” again, for the latter proved to be “sparking” the ether with frantic calls in search of the radio boy on whom he believed he had made a serious impression, but who seemed, for some unhappy reason, to have forgotten him.