The House Boat Boys; Or, Drifting Down to the Sunny SouthRathborne, St. George
General
The House Boat Boys; Or, Drifting Down to the Sunny South
Rathborne, St. George
Boats and boating -- Juvenile fiction; Houseboats -- Juvenile fiction; Mississippi River -- Juvenile fiction
"I always heard Uncle Ambrose was forgetful of small things, and I
guess it's true. Never once entered his head when he was writing.
Perhaps it may later, and he'll think to enclose the money from
some foreign port. Why, would you believe it, he didn't even
mention where the steamer was going to next; only remarked that
they sailed in a day or so. But the tone of the letter is warm,
and--why, of course I must accept the invitation. It just seems to
come in now at the one time I need it most. You wouldn't want me
to let it pass, would you, Thad?"
"I should say not, even if it does hurt some to think of you going
away and me staying in this bum old place," said his friend,
quickly giving Maurice an affectionate look that spoke volumes.
"If I could only go, too. I'm dead sure uncle would be glad to
have you with me on board; and think of the glorious times we
could have. Why, it seems too good to be true, doesn't it?"
"I guess it does for me. I'd like to go the worst kind, but where
would I pick up the money to pay my way? Of course I might float
down the Mississippi on the Tramp all right, given time enough;
but that would be kind of lonely business for one; now if you
could only--say, I wonder--oh, bosh, of course you wouldn't want
to even think of it," and he dropped his head dejectedly.
"Wouldn't think of what? Why don't you go on and finish? You've
got some sort of a fine scheme in your head, so explain," demanded
Maurice, quickly.
"I was just thinking, that's all, what a great time we might have
if we did start out in my little bum boat to make New Orleans.
There's three months ahead of us, and scores of shanty-boats
float down from Cincinnati to Orleans every fall and winter--you
know that. Gee! what fun we could have!" and the two boys started
at each other for half a dozen seconds without saying a word; but
those looks were more eloquent than all the language ever uttered.
Then Maurice thrust out his hand impulsively.
"Shake! Do you really think we could do it, Thad?" he exclaimed.
"Do I? Why, it would be as easy as pie. Think of it; all you have
to do is to let the current carry you along. It's a snap, that's
what!" cried the other, brimming over with enthusiasm.
Ah! Thad was yet to learn that a thousand unforeseen difficulties
lay in wait for those floating craft that drifted down the great
water highway every winter; but "in the bright lexicon of youth
there is no such word as fail," and to his eyes the enterprise was
a veritable voyage of pleasure, nothing less.
"Then we'll go!" declared Maurice, with vim, shaking his chum's
hand furiously. "Given a week to get my traps together, sell what
I don't want, lay in some provisions, buy a few things, like a
flannel shirt and corduroy trousers after the style of those you
wear, and I'll be ready. Say, Thad, what a day this has turned out
after all, and I was just thinking it the blackest ever."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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