“Sure,” laughed Frank.  “Listen to the bloodthirsty Thomas.  What do you suppose would be going on up the pole all that time?”

“Well, I’d be there watching for Wyckoff and when the explosion blew him up, I’d reach out and slap his wrist as he went sailing by.”

“Well, he isn’t here and probably won’t be here for some time, either.  We’d better get to sleep,” Jack stated.  “Tomorrow bright and early we’ll get those carpenters at work.  One plank is a short job and then it’ll only be a few minutes work for all hands to slap on the copper paint and into the water she goes.  We should have the Fortuna afloat before noon if everything goes well.”

“Hurray!” cried Tom.  “Then we’ll go up to the cabin—­”

His voice lost its ringing, cheery tone as he thought of what they might find at the cabin.  No one could speak for a few minutes.

At last they composed themselves for slumber in the after cabin that the boys liked so well.  It was fitted up with souvenirs of their various trips.  Here a pair of wings from a great snowy owl that Tom had shot.  There a stuffed porcupine that caused such a commotion in their camp in the Canadian wilds of Georgian Bay.  Here were the jaw bones of a giant muscalonge that had taken the bait at sunrise one morning as Harry was trolling from a skiff in northern Michigan.  So on it went with various trophies of the hunt and chase.  The room was their parlor, where they gathered for a pleasant evening and where they preferred to spend the night.

Rowdy curled on a rug in the middle of the floor.  One eye was open.  Ever as he slept or dozed his limbs twitched convulsively and he moaned and muttered in his fitful unconsciousness.

No disturbance wakened the boys that night.  They slept soundly as only healthy, hearty boys can sleep when their minds are filled with pure thoughts of sport and active out-of-doors life.  As yet they had not been tainted with the many things that go to disturb rest.  Their everyday training at the Beaver Patrol club rooms had been along right lines.  Their Scout Masters were all young men of high ambition whose purpose was to teach their younger scouts that highest, noblest lesson—­that man is here for a purpose and that purpose is not a selfish one.  Thus far their teaching had not been in vain.

With the early beams of the morning sun Jack was awake.

“Come on, boys,” he cried.  “We’ll have to bathe in a pint bowl this morning.  No hose for us today.”

“Well, if we can’t have a shower bath, let’s take a quick cold sponge and then have a little setting up exercise,” suggested Tom.

Their actions were a revelation to the watchman who was now just recovering from his stupor of the night before.  His brain was still so befuddled by the liquor that he could not at once understand what was going on about him.  His surprise pleased the boys.

“What’ll we have for breakfast?” asked Tom, and then added, “Suggest something easy, for I’m cook, you know.”