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Jim Wright nodded. "Fine with me," he said.
Tommy Bolt walked into the house. In a moment, he was back, jingling some keys and holding out a sports shirt for the city man. "Now just slip that on," he said, "and we'll get out on that river and you'll feel all your cares and worries slip away."
The city man made the change and followed Bolt and Wright down to the dock. Moored there was a platform on pontoons. It was powered by an outboard motor.
"This is known," said Tommy Bolt, getting aboard, "as a float boat, spelled F-l-o-t-e—B-o-t-e in the advertising. It is just perfect for rivers. Now take seats there, pals, and enjoy the scenery. Jimbo, just give her a kick away from the dock."
The boat drifted out. Tommy Bolt took a seat at the steering post and inserted a key in the ignition lock. "Take notice," he said to the city man, "that we have a self-starter here. No yanking of a rope to get the outboard going." He tried to turn the ignition key, but it wouldn't turn. He scowled, but caught himself and smiled brightly.
"The lock seems to be a little stiff," he said. "In need of a little oil, no doubt." The boat drifted along the deep tropical foliage that edged the lawn on the backyard.
"The lock," said Tommy Bolt, jutting out his chin and pursing his lips, "seems to be very stiff." He struggled with the key, ducking the overhanging branches of the trees that lined the shore.
Tommy Bolt's sunburned face got redder still. "We got to stop her," he yelled, "we're liable to drift clear out into the Gulf of Mexico. I could pole her back to shore, but I got no pole." Suddenly he lunged halfway out of the boat and grabbed the branch of an overhanging tree. Hanging on desperately, he cried out, "Mary Lou! Mar-ree Lou!"
Mary Lou Bolt came running to the edge of the dock. She held something aloft in her hand. "You took the wrong keys, Tommy! Here are the boat keys!"
"Don't con a man who's conned a million," Tommy called back over the water. "The tag on these keys says boat keys!"