Читать книгу The Motor Girls at Camp Surprise: or, The Cave in the Mountains - Penrose Margaret - Страница 7

Out into the sunlit Chelton river swung the smart motor boat with Cora at the wheel. The sun glinted on the water, it reflected from the polished brass rail and the white forward deck of the craft, it sparkled from the brass letters of the name —Corbelbes, and danced in javelins of light on the little waves.

The Corbelbes was the latest name of the motor boat which had been variously christened at times. The craft was owned jointly by Cora, Belle and Bess, and in accordance with their agreement they had in turn the privilege of naming it, such name to be used during a whole season.

In turn the girls had adopted various more or less classical nomenclature. Each one’s time having expired, it came to Cora again, and she confessed that she did not know what to select.

“Let me name the boat for you,” suggested Jack. “I’ve thought of a swell name.”

“Something ridiculous, I’m sure of that,” ventured Cora.

“No, something really classy. How’s this,” and Jack quickly printed on a piece of paper the name now glinting on either bow of the craft.

“Corbelbes,” repeated his sister. “That isn’t half bad. What is it, Spanish or Latin?”

“It’s French for curling iron and face powder,” laughed Jack.

“You mean thing!”

“No, it isn’t, Sis. Don’t you see, it’s the first part of the names of all three of you.”

“Oh, so it is.” Cora was smiling now.

“What better name could you have for a boat?” Jack demanded. “It’s something distinctive and individual.”

Cora and her chums agreed with him, and the motor boat became the Corbelbes, and as such had remained.

“Does she steer all right, Cora, with the new tiller ropes on?” asked Jack, as he lolled lazily on one of the cushioned lockers, which, at night, could be turned into comfortable bunks.

“A bit stiff,” responded his sister.

“Well, the ropes will stretch, after they’ve been used a bit, so it’s just as well to have them tight now. You get quicker action when you turn the wheel, though the river will not be crowded after we get up a way.”

Bess, Belle and Hazel busied themselves setting to rights their various possessions in the little cabin, and then they sat out in the wicker chairs in the after part of the craft, where Jack and Walter were. Paul seemed to find entertainment up in the bow with Cora.

“Where are the eats?” demanded Walter, when they had been under way for perhaps a half hour. “Didn’t I see you smuggling something on board, Bess?”

“Eats? Now?” cried Jack. “And if you saw Bess have anything it was a box of chocolates.”

“It was not, Jack Kimball!” retorted the pretty, plump twin. “I’ve given up chocolates.”

“For how long?” he teased.

“For ever. I’m eating lime drops and lemon drops now. Have some?”

“I knew I saw you have something,” declared Walter. “Why, they’re chocolates after all!” he went on, as he helped himself to what Bess offered.

“I know they are, but the chocolate coating is very thin,” she said. “They’re sour inside.”

“Sort of Christian Science treatment,” remarked Jack. “Bess couldn’t altogether give up her chocolate, so she takes it in homeopathic doses. Whew! they are sour!” he cried, as he bit into one of the candies, making a wry face.

“Fruit acids make one thin, I read,” Bess stated, “so I had these made to order.”

“Bess Robinson, you never did!” voiced her sister in surprised accents.

“Why shouldn’t I? They didn’t cost any more than the others. All the candy shop did was to dip their regular lime and lemon drops into chocolate for me.”

“Well!” exclaimed Belle. “Did you hear that, Cora?”

There was no reply from the girl at the wheel. She and Paul were busy talking.

“Let her alone,” urged Bess. “She knows about my candy. I told her.”

“Yes, don’t disturb ’em,” agreed Walter. “But I want something more substantial than candy. Didn’t you bring anything else, Bess?”

“Yes, we have a nice lunch, but I’m not going to have you spoil your appetite by eating now,” declared Belle.

“You don’t know how hard it is to spoil his appetite,” laughed Jack. “I’ve tried several times to find out just where the vanishing point is, but I haven’t succeeded. I’ve begun to believe that his appetite is like the poor – always with us – or him.”

“Base traitor!” retorted Walter, reaching out to punch Jack, but finding him too far away he did not exert himself.

The Chelton river was a busy place in the neighborhood of the town where our friends lived. On the way up the Corbelbes passed a number of craft, some of them slow-moving coal or grain barges, others passenger steamers, and not a few pleasure craft. Those in charge of the latter recognized the Corbelbes and saluted her with the regulation three whistles, which Cora returned.

“We couldn’t have had a better day,” remarked Paul, as he sat beside Cora.

“No, it’s perfect. If the weather only behaves when we get to camp we’ll be in all sorts of ways obliged to it.”

“Oh, I guess it will,” was the comment. “Look out for that fellow, Cora. He doesn’t seem to know which way he wants to go.”

“I’ve been noticing him,” and Cora looked at a man in a rowboat who was yawing from side to side as though unfamiliar with the proper method of navigation.

Cora blew the whistle sharply as the man seemed about to cross her bows, and this further confused him so that he was really in danger of being run down.

“Look out!” cried Paul again, instinctively, though he knew Cora knew how to manage the boat.

And she proved that she did by quickly reversing the propeller, while a series of sharp blasts informed any craft coming astern to look out for themselves.

“What’s the matter with you?” demanded Paul, as the Corbelbes passed the man in the rowboat. “You ought to take lessons before you come out on the river.”

The man looked frightened but did not answer, pulling awkwardly away.

“What are you trying to do, Cora?” demanded Jack. “Have an accident before we’re fairly started? Better let me steer.”

“I will not, indeed! It wasn’t my fault!”

“I should say not!” cried Paul. “That fellow was a dub!”

That was the only near approach to a collision, though the river was unusually crowded that morning. In a little while, however, the water traffic thinned out, and Cora did not have to devote so much attention to the wheel.

“Say, isn’t it time for lunch now?” demanded Walter, insinuatingly.

“It’s only eleven,” announced Belle, with a look at her wrist watch.

“That’s his regular feeding time – at least he’ll say so,” put in Jack, before his chum had a chance to answer.

“I had an early breakfast,” put in Walter in extenuation.

“Oh, well, give the child something,” laughed Bess, “and let us have peace!”

Sandwiches, cake and other things were brought out, set on a table which unfolded from the side of the boat, and the merry chatter was soon interspersed with periods of silence to allow a chance to eat.

“We’ll get there in good season,” Cora was saying, when the engine gave a sudden combined cough, wheeze and sneeze, and stopped.

“No gasoline!” cried Walter.

“Indeed not!” answered Cora. “Both tanks are full.”

“Ground wire broken,” suggested Paul.

A hasty look at the conductors proved this theory to be wrong.

“Then it’s the carburetor,” Jack affirmed. “The worst possible place for trouble. I’ll look after it, Sis. I’ve had the dingus apart, and if anybody knows about its insides I do. Throw that anchor overboard, Wally, and I’ll tinker with the troublemaker.”

A small anchor splashed into the river, while Jack, putting on an old jumper and overalls, kept for such emergencies, took off the carburetor and proceeded to examine it, from cork float to butterfly valve.

“Must be poor gasoline they’re serving us lately,” he said. “It’s awfully dirty. Look!” and he held up his grimy hands.

“Have you found the trouble?” Cora asked.

“Yes, it was the air intake valve. Little speck of carbon in it prevented the proper mixture. I’ll have it fixed in a jiffy.”

Jack proved the truth of his assertion by replacing the carburetor, and, a little later, by starting the engine without any trouble.

“Hurrah!” cried Paul. “That’s what it is to have a good mechanician aboard.”

“It’s a wonder you wouldn’t qualify yourself,” said Jack grimly. “Look at me! I’ll have to take a bath!” and he held up his hands, grimier than ever.

“There’s some of that mechanic’s soap – with pumice stone in it – in one of the lockers,” volunteered Cora. “Use that, Jack.”

The anchor was hauled in and the Corbelbes started up the river once more. Jack knelt down on one side of the stern deck, and, reaching down into the river, wet his hands, rubbing on them some pasty soap, guaranteed to remove grime of all kinds and leave most of the original skin.

“Where’s the camera?” asked Bess.

“What for?” demanded her sister.

“I want a view of Jack at his bath. Doesn’t he look cute?”

“Wait until I pose for you,” Jack suggested, making a lather of the soap. “I’m a dandy when it comes to poses. Just watch me.”

He stood up on the after deck, but his foot slipped on a bit of the lather that dropped from his hands, and, a moment later, Jack plunged overboard.