“Well,” remarked Will, when they saw this, after starting forth themselves; “perhaps after all, it’s better that way. Oil and water can’t mix very well; and while Ossie was feeling pretty warm toward us last night, those cronies of his might set his mind against us again. Why, that Ellis has a hand that feels like a snake, or a cold-toad, when you take hold of it. I always despise a fellow like that. Seems to me he’s just made for trickery and cunning.” Frank thought the same way, but did not express his opinion. Secretly he too was satisfied that they would not have to see more of the others during the voyage. And so they went on, enjoying themselves day by day, meeting such troubles and difficulties as might arise from time to time with the same brave spirit that had always been a motto of the Outdoor Chums; and finally finding themselves safely tied up in a boatyard on the river front of the great city of the South, that seems to stand at the gateway of the Mississippi like a sentinel, guarding the entire valley against some threatening foreign enemy. CHAPTER XXV—THE FINISH OF THE VOYAGE “Tell them all to come in!” A hearty voice uttered these words; and passing through a door, the three comrades of the houseboat found themselves in the presence of an elderly gentleman, who sat with a leg bound up, and resting on a chair. He had a thin face; but it was now wreathed with a genial smile, as he held out his hand to Will. “Hello! Nephew Will Milton; glad you’ve arrived, safe and sound; and so these are your companions I’ve heard so much about, the Outdoor Chums? Well, after all, I’m beginning to believe the stories that have come to me about their prowess, and penetration; because in the first place you four boys have made this long voyage in good shape; look the picture of health; and last of all, you declined to be humbugged by any slippery case like Marcus Stackpole; eh?” The boys looked at each other, too astonished for words; because Will had never written a single word to his uncle during the entire cruise; how then could he know anything about their unwelcome guest, who seemed determined to stick to the houseboat until it arrived in New Orleans, and whom they had only been able to get rid of through a clever ruse. “Wonder how I knew about it; eh?” laughed the old gentleman, who had spent many years of his life in seeking sport under every sun, being a born Nimrod, as Will had long ago informed them. “Well, I’ll let you into the secret, boys. I used to get a letter every little while, written on board the houseboat, which I see you aptly named the _Pot Luck_. And _he_ wrote them all!” “But,” exclaimed Will, his eyes wide with surprise, “we don’t understand it, Uncle Felix. You seemed so bent on not having us let that man aboard at all; and above everything warned us not to allow him to be there when we reached New Orleans; and yet you say he was writing to you all the while?”