The Motor Boys on a Ranch

"Might have known it would turn out this way if we let him manage things," grumbled Ned Slade in disgusted tones as he slumped down on one of the forward lockers of a motor boat that was drifting slowly in the middle of a blue lake. "Why didn't you look after the details yourself, Jerry?" "Why, Bob said he would see that everything was all right and——" "Yes! And this shows how much he ‘saw.' A chap with compound astigmatism in both blinkers could see better than Bob Baker!" "Oh, come now," protested Jerry Hopkins in soothing tones. "Aren't you a bit rough on our fat chum," and he glanced toward a stout chap who was bending over the motor of the boat, tinkering with its various parts in an endeavor to set it going again. "Rough on him?" expostulated Ned. "I should say not! I'm like a piece of silk compared to a bit of sandpaper when I think of the things I could say—and haven't the heart." "Don't stop on my account!" snapped the heavy-weight, over his shoulder. "Get it out of your system and maybe you'll feel better."