“What is your name, may I ask?” questioned Arnold.

“Carlos Madero is my right name, but they call me Charley,” was the lad’s almost surly response.  “I live at Pass Christian and work on a shrimping schooner.  My boat is gone now.”

Arnold busied himself with the operation of the stove for a moment to regain his composure, for the fellow’s manner had angered him immediately.  Presently he turned and said: 

“My name is Arnold Poysor.  I am from Chicago and so are my chums.  We are down here for a vacation and pleasure trip.  We’re sorry we smashed your boat, but if you’ll accept it, we’ll give you the one we’re towing behind us.  We bought it in Mobile.”

“All right!” replied Carlos.  “You ought to do that much.”

Arnold now prepared the table for dinner and calling his companions to eat he introduced them to Carlos as they entered the cabin.  Jack remained at the wheel while the others ate.

All the boys tried to make pleasant conversation for the newcomer but he greedily devoured the food set before him in a ravenous manner.  His conversation was little better than monosyllables.  At last the boys in despair gave up the effort of entertainment and fell to discussing their situation amongst themselves.  They recounted the incidents of their trip down the Great Lakes, through the Erie Canal and down the Hudson River, their pleasant run down the east coast of the United States to the Florida Keys, past the Dry Tortugas and up to Mobile.

To all of their conversation Carlos listened intently, eating in silence, but keenly alert to every word that was said.  Finally as the talk lulled to an occasional remark he looked up and said: 

“What are you here for, anyway?”

“I told you,” replied Arnold, “we’re here for a pleasant vacation trip.  We’ll be joined later by the father of the boy at the wheel and then we expect to go on up the Mississippi to our home at Chicago.  Didn’t you believe me at first?”

“No,” bluntly replied Carlos, “I didn’t.”

“All right,” laughed Arnold, “we’ll forgive you this time.”

To relieve the tense situation Tom sprang to his feet saying that he would go and relieve Jack at the wheel while his friend ate.

Once in the pilot house he was met with a questioning look from Jack who was holding the wheel with one hand and Rowdy with the other.  The dog was struggling wildly to free himself.

“What’s the matter with Rowdy?” questioned Tom wonderingly.

“I’ll never tell you,” Jack panted, “he’s been trying to get down into the cabin like all possessed ever since dinner was called.  I’ve had my own sweet time to keep him here.”

“Maybe the poor tyke is getting hungry like the rest of us human beings,” ventured Tom.  “Rowdy, are you hungry?” he asked.

Rowdy’s reply was a glance from bloodshot eyes toward his friend, then he launched himself against the door leading to the cabin emitting growls that were unmistakably vicious.