I guess nobody said anything more all the way up, until we came near the Field Club landing. The shore is like low cliffs here and after we got her over against it, a couple of the fellows got out and towed her along with ropes, till we came to the long float.
“Are we going to tie her at the float?” Connie Bennett asked, very sober like. Gee, it sounded funny to hear someone speak. Doc Carson said, “Yes.” He was kind of like head of the three patrols now, because he has the most sense of all of us, I guess, and Tom Slade, who is head of the Elks, is away and I decided, all of a sudden, that I wasn’t much of a patrol leader, and Artie—he was—he wasn’t there.
“Look out for that canoe,” somebody said, just as we were coming alongside the float.
“They shouldn’t have left it there,” Connie said; “that’s no place for a canoe.” I guess we were all kind of nervous and cranky like.
Then I saw that there was a black figure sitting on the lowest step of the boathouse. I was just going to call “Who’s there?” when Doc said, “Pull that canoe out of the way before we smash it in.”
So I jumped off onto the float and grabbed the canoe, and g-o-o-d night! it was my Indian dugout.
Then I heard one of the fellows shouting, “_Look who’s here!_” and I saw the fellow who had been sitting on the steps coming toward the float, and I could tell it was Artie Van Arlen. Then I could hear Pee-wee dancing on the cabin roof and screaming, “The plot grows thicker! The plot grows thicker!”—good night, the kid was almost having a fit.
“If it wouldn’t be too much trouble,” I said to Artie, “would you please relate your adventures. I see that you’re not dead.”
“Well, not so you’d notice it,” he said, “but I guess I came pretty near it.”
Then I could see he was all in and must have had a pretty hard time of it, but I couldn’t help kidding him, because I was feeling so good to know he was safe. Believe me, that fellow had some adventure.
“It was lucky for me,” he said, “that you tied this crazy canoe or whatever you call it——”
“That is an Indian dugout, if anyone should ask you,” I said, “and if I wanted to sell it to an antiquary——”
“A what?” Pee-wee shouted down from the cabin roof.
“An antiquary,” I said; “comes from the Latin word _aunt_ and the Chinese word _query_, meaning to _ask questions_—otherwise the same as Pee-wee. As I was saying, if I wanted to sell it to an antiquary I could get a large check for it.”