When Clem reached home, Dave and Tom Trent were busy in the warehouse. Their muffled voices droned softly out on the hot afternoon like the murmur of yellow-jackets in their nest. Big Boy stuck his nose from under the cottage porch and whined for sympathy. He was not yet recovered from the shock the yellow cat had inflicted upon him.
“If you wish, Big Boy, you may come aboard the Gypsy with me,” cried Clem, laughing at the forlorn figure the big dog made as he crept out of his hiding place. “You’ll have to behave yourself better than you did at the store. I can’t have you racing around in my nice boat.”
GypsyOn her way into the house Clem stuck Dave’s letter in the railing where he was sure to see it. She wondered what new instructions it contained from the Seattle office.
Big Boy waite
