Parts had
failed to fit, and much wearisome toil had been demanded before the
device was actually in place. At last, however, all was ready, and
Abbie Brewster, a party to the conspiracy, had on a sunny morning urged
her reluctant spouse and the three captains to make a trip out to the
Bar for clams. They were none too keen about the proposed expedition,
for the weather was warm and their course lay through shallow waters
which after the recent storm were turbid with seaweed. Nevertheless,
ignoring their unwillingness, Abbie declared she must have the clams,
and was not her word law?
Therefore, without enthusiasm, the four fishermen had set forth with
their buckets and their clam forks, and it was now a full three hours
since the motor-boat that carried them had disappeared around the point
of sand jutting into the sparkling waters of the bay.
Bob and Willie, secreted in the workshop, had breathlessly watched the
_Sea Gull_ thread her way through the channel and make the curving
shelter of the dunes, and ever since the old inventor had sat alert on
an overturned nail keg, his binoculars in one hand and his great silver
watch in the other, counting the moments until the little craft should
return from its momentous cruise.
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