"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.