The boys worked with willing hands, and in a short time the _Pot Luck_ was once more afloat, drifting down the wide river, and leaving Memphis and Luther Snow behind.
Still, none of the boys seemed as jubilant as they had anticipated, in getting rid of their incubus. The fact was, that Luther had somehow rather gained a little hold upon their affections, and secretly they were sorry to have him go. Only for that strange clause in the note of Uncle Felix they might have allowed him to remain on board the houseboat until New Orleans was reached, no matter if he were Marcus Stackpole or not.
Often would they ponder over this strange matter; and it must form the subject of more than a few earnest talks; yet, not having the key to the puzzle, they must always confess themselves baffled. As Frank had truly said, the riddle was not to be solved until they stood face to face with the gentleman who owned the _Pot Luck_, and they had plied him with questions.
Often when some darky from the bank would call out a sportive remark, intended for those aboard the passing houseboat, the boys would look at each other in a queer way. For the same idea must have flashed into the mind of each one; and this that it might be the wily Marcus Stackpole trying a new game upon them, with the idea of once more getting aboard the _Pot Luck_.
Below Vicksburg they took stock of the time, and found that in all they had been just seven weeks on the voyage. Another one ought to see them safely at their journey’s end, if all went well.
Being on a boat that could only drift, there was no chance to attempt any of the numerous “cutoffs” that began to be met with, every day now. And so sticking to the big river, they “boomed” along on the flood from shortly after daylight up to nearly dark, covering scores of miles each day with the swift flow of the current.
The Southern plantation scenes were of great interest to the boys; and Will rapidly diminished the number of his film rolls, snapping laughable pictures of the dusky toilers of the cotton and sugarcane; together with the numerous broods of pickaninnies that gathered around, every time they stopped at a little “wood-station,” where certain boats were in the habit of tying up to load pine cordwood for the boiler.