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Some of the scouts later on were given a chance to pay a visit to the wonderful canal that was then being dug across the Isthmus at Panama; and the record of how they made themselves exceedingly useful while down there will always be a bright page in the history of the Hampton Troop.
Mention has already been made by Andy Bowles, the bugler of the troop, of the trip to Mexico, with its attendant adventures; and also of the foreign tour undertaken by several of the Eagles on the previous summer, just when hostilities had broken out between the nations of Europe; and Belgium, where they were compelled to visit, was torn from end to end with the mad struggles of warring factions.
Yes, surely the Eagles could rest upon their laurels from this time on, and history would accord them the laurel wreath as the most enterprising patrol known to the Boy Scouts of America.
Still, what boy is ever satisfied with what has happened in the past? The present and the near future is what engages his attention and excites his interest. Even sensible Rob Blake secretly sighed when he contemplated having to put in the whole summer around the home town while Tubby Hopkins was having such a glorious time out there on the Coast; and his other chum, Merritt Crawford, was up in Canada with his folks at a camp.
It was a beautiful and warm day in the early summer. The sun shone from an unclouded sky, but there was enough sea breeze to fan their heated brows, and to make them think that there could be few things equal to being in a speedy little motorboat, spinning over the surface of that lovely land-locked bay, with the ocean booming on the outer edge of the sandy strip to the south.
They could have quite an extended view from far out in the bay, with the houses scattered along the shore, and the white sails of pleasure craft or fishing and clamming boats dotting the water far and near.
Just ahead of them the old launch that had seen better days was churning up the water with its noisy propeller, though not making remarkable headway at that. As the two scouts gradually drew up on the Sea Gull , they made out that besides the ancient skipper there was just one passenger aboard.
Why, said Andy Bowles presently, as this person chanced to turn his face toward them by accident, that must be the old gent I saw drop off the nine-thirty train from New York this morning when I was heading for your house. Yes, and now I think of it, I heard him ask Dan Trotter at the station where Judge Collins lived, and how he could get to his house at the Point.
Some friend of the Judge, then, suggested Rob; and I guess he has a host of them here and abroad; for hes wealthy, and interested in all sorts of scientific matters. They say that at his city house in the winter he entertains, at times, all the big guns from the different colleges of the world.
Which reminds me, Rob. There was an odd twang in this old fellows manner of speech that made me think of Sandy Ferguson, the Scotchman who has the bagpipes, you remember, and always insists in marching in all the parades in Hampton.
Then, perhaps, hes some famous Scotch professor, observed the skipper of the Tramp , who wants to see the judge so much that hes chased away out here to his summer home on invitation.
He has a red face, wears big glasses, and is scrawny enough for a Scotchman, anyway, chuckled Andy, but do you know I always like to listen to one of the Highland folks talk. It was the burr in his speech that made me stop and listen as far as I did. Hes got it down pat, Rob.
Dont say anything more now, Andy; were drawing up pretty close, and he might not like it if he thought we were talking about him. That old motor does make lots of noise, but sometimes it misses, and then theres a lapse, you know.
But theyre heading straight for the Point where the Collins Castle is located, you notice, Rob, so I
guess Cap. Jerry is ferrying him across. I only hope the old tub doesnt take a notion to founder before it gets to the dock a mile away from here.
Oh! its stood lots of pounding, and only has to be bailed out frequently on account of leaking like a sieve, Rob said in a low tone. Jerry has all that down to a fine point, and just once in so often he gets busy and lowers the bilge water with the pump he keeps rigged handy.
Excuse me from running around in such a trap, muttered Andy, who was rather inclined to be fussy with regard to everything he handled, and tried to have his possessions kept up to top-notch condition what he himself called apple-pie shape.
The professor is like most Englishmen, for he loves his pipe, remarked Rob, as he watched the passenger aboard the old launch filling his little black pipe with tobacco taken from a rubber pouch. I hope, when he strikes that match, and then throws it away after lighting up, he knows enough about motorboats to see that it goes overboard, and not into the bottom of the craft. Sometimes a leak will spread a film of gasolene over the bilge water, and theres always more or less danger of an explosion.