The Banner Boy Scouts Afloat | Page 8

wanted myself to know a long while back. It's about a trip up the
Radway River, too, just as our smart chum guessed."
"But, say, the boats are right here at Stanhope, and have been used in
running up and down the Bushkill; then how in the name of wonder can
we carry them over to the Radway, which is some miles away, I take
it?" asked William Carberry, soberly.

"Wait and see; Paul's got all that arranged," declared the confident Tom
Betts.
"Have 'em hauled over on one of his father's big lumber wagons,
mebbe," suggested Nuthin, who was rather a small chap, though not of
quite so little importance as his name would seem to indicate.
"Oh, you make me tired, Nuthin," declared Bobolink; "why, those
motorboats weigh a ton or two apiece. Think of gettin' a wagon strong
enough to carry one; and all the slow trips it'd have to take to get 'em
there and back. I reckon the whole of our vacation'd see us on the dry
land part of the cruise. Now, let Paul tell us what plan he's been
thinking about to get over to the Radway with 'em."
"Well, it's just this way," the chairman of the meeting went on to say,
calmly, with the air of one who had studied the matter carefully, and
grasped every little detail; "most of you know that there was a stream
known as Jackson Creek that ran into the Bushkill a mile below
Manchester. That was once dredged out, and made to form a regular
canal connecting the two rivers. For years, my father says, it was used
regularly by all sorts of boats that wanted to cross over from one river
to the other. But changes came, and by degrees the old canal has been
about forgotten. Still, it's there; and I went through it in my canoe just
yesterday, to sound, and see if it could be used by the motorboats now."
"And could it?" asked Bobolink, eagerly.
"I think there's a fair chance that we'd pull through, though it might
sometimes be a close shave. There's a lot of nasty mud in the canal,
because, you see, it hasn't been cleaned out for years. If we had a good
rain now, and both rivers raised, we wouldn't have any trouble, but
could run through easy enough."
"Well, supposing we did get through, how far up the Radway would we
push?" asked Bobolink, determined to get the entire proposition out of
Paul at once, now that they had him going.
"All the way to Lake Tokala," replied Paul, promptly. "Some of you

happen to know that there's a jolly island in that big lake, known as
Cedar Island, because right on top of a small hill in the middle, a
splendid cedar stands. Well, we could take our tents along, and make
camp on that island, fishing, swimming, and having one of the best
times ever heard of. What do you say, fellows?"
Immediately there was a clamor of tongues. Some seemed to be for
accepting Paul's suggestion with a whoop, and declared that it took
them by storm. A few, however, seemed to raise objections; and such
was the racket that nobody was able to make himself understood. So
the chairman called for order; and with the whack of his gavel on the
table every voice was stilled.
"Let's conduct this meeting in a parliamentary way," said Paul. "Some
of you must have thought it stood adjourned. Now, whoever wants to
speak, get up, and let's hear what you've got to say."
"I move that we take up the plan offered, and make our headquarters on
Cedar Island," said Wallace Carberry, rising.
"Not on your life!" declared Curly Baxter, bobbing up like a
jack-in-the-box; "I've heard lots about that same place. It's troubled
with a mystery, and only last week I heard Paddy Reilly say he'd never
go there fishin' again if he was paid for it. He's dreadfully afraid of
ghosts, Paddy is."
"Ghosts!" almost shouted William Carberry; "I vote to go to Cedar
Island then. I've always wanted to see a genuine ghost, and never yet
had a chance."
"Now, I heard that it was a wild man that lived somewhere on that
same island," remarked Frank Savage. "They say he's a terror, too, all
covered with hair; and one man who'd been looking for pearl mussels
in the river up that way told my father he beat any Wild Man of Borneo
he'd ever set eyes on in a freak show or circus."
"Oh, that's a fine place for honest scouts to pitch their tents, ain't it--I
don't think!" observed Joe Clausin, with a sneer.

"H-h-huh! ain't there j-j-just twenty-six of us s-s-scouts; and ought we
b-b-be afraid of one l-l-little g-g-ghost,