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CHAPTER XVI – WITNESSES A DEFEAT FOR THE VAGABOND

Breakfast was over and the crew of the Vagabond were gathered around the chart which lay spread open on the cabin roof. It was foggy again this morning, but the sunlight filtered through the gray mist, lending warmth and color and promise of better things.

“She’ll clear up before noon,” Nelson had oracularly declared a moment before. “We’ll clean up the launch this morning and go on to Newport after luncheon.”

“There seems to be two ways of going,” said Bob. “We can go through between the mainland and Nonamesset Island or we can run down and around the end of Cuttihunk. It looks like an even thing as far as distance is concerned.”

“Well, if it clears up nicely,” answered Nelson, “suppose we take the outside route. We don’t have to go around Cuttihunk, though, Bob; if you’ll look at the chart you’ll find there’s a fair passage for small boats between Naushon and Pasque, and between Pasque and Nashawena there’s a good mile of clear water called Quicks Hole.”

“Yes, I see,” said Bob. “Let’s go through Quicks Hole.”

“Nonsense,” exclaimed Dan, pushing Bob aside. “What we want to do is to make for Nonamesset, leaving Uncatena on the starboard bow, head so’so’west for Penikese, keeping Woepecket on the weather rail, whatever that is, bear south off the no’east corner of Nashawena, give Cuttihunk the cold shoulder, dip our colors to Naushon, run through Canapitset Cut and drop anchor in Quamquisset for five o’clock tea!”

“Help!” yelled Nelson.

“Great Scott, what names!” laughed Bob.

“Well, now you know your route,” said Dan gravely. “I guess you fellows are pretty glad you’ve got me with you to show you the way. Talk about your Navigating Officers!”

“Tommy, do you think you could find the wharf?” asked Bob.

“Huh, I can see it,” said Tom.

“Then suppose you drop lightly into the tender and row ashore and buy us some provisions. Dan’s finished the butter, and we need some fresh meat and bread, don’t we?”

“Yep, and eggs. You fellows needn’t wait for me to get back before you start on the brass. Go ahead and enjoy yourselves.”

“That’s all right, Tommy,” Dan answered. “We’ll save your share for you.”

“Well, let’s get at it,” said Nelson. “We want the launch looking her best when we reach Newport. It won’t do to put into a swell place like that with dirty paint.”

“No,” said Dan. “I think we might even insist on Tommy’s washing his face.”

“It’s as clean as yours,” retorted Tom from the tender.

“Of course, we don’t want to be fussy, Tommy, and if it was any place but Newport we wouldn’t say a word. But as the Four Hundred will probably be down at the wharf to welcome us – ”

Dan’s further remarks were interrupted by a shower of water impelled toward him by an oar blade. When he had regained his eyesight Tommy was too far distant to allow of reprisals and Dan contented himself with threats of future revenge.

Then house cleaning began in earnest, and it was no small task that confronted them. The decks were to scrub, the hull to wash, the port lights to be cleaned and the brasswork to be shined. And the brass was the biggest part of the undertaking. There was, as Dan complained later, altogether too much of it; stern cleat and chocks, bow cleat and chocks, gasoline and water-tank caps, wheel, deck rail, whistle, search light, lanterns, flag-pole sockets, and numerous bits of hardware such as hatch fastening, door knobs, and locker buttons. Oh, yes, there was plenty of work, and Dan, assisted later by all the others, rubbed and rubbed until long past the usual luncheon hour. But when it was all done they had the satisfaction of knowing that no cleaner, brighter, smarter craft was afloat.

They ate luncheon at a quarter past one, by which time the sun was out in full strength and what little breeze came in through the open ports felt very grateful to four very warm mariners.

At two o’clock to the minute the Vagabond’s anchor came up over the bow, and very dirty it was, to Dan’s disgust, and the propeller began to revolve. Out around West Chop Lighthouse and the stone jetty went the Vagabond, white paint glistening in the sunlight and bright-work sparkling gayly, while from the flag poles the launch’s bunting fluttered in the little westerly breeze. Then Dan, at the wheel, turned the boat’s head southwest and they met the waters of the Sound on the quarter as they sped for Quicks Hole. It was a glorious afternoon and the Four, protected from the sun by the awning, found life very enjoyable. The engine was doing her very best, taking kindly to the last lot of gasoline. They had about forty miles ahead of them and meant to cover it by half-past five. At a little after three they were in Quicks Hole, bobbing about gayly in the wake of a steamer.

“Wonder why they called these the Elizabeth Islands?” said Tom.

“After Queen Elizabeth, maybe,” hazarded Bob.

“And do you suppose Nonamesset, Uncatena, Naushon, and the rest of them were her children?” asked Tom.

“Well,” laughed Bob, “I never heard that she had any children.”

“Oh, that’s so,” murmured Tom sheepishly, “I forgot.”

“I hope,” remarked Nelson solicitously, “that English History wasn’t among the subjects in which you were examined for admission to Erskine, Tommy.”

“Say!” cried Tom. “I’d ought to hear pretty soon about that exam. Maybe the letter will be at Newport!”

“Want to turn back?” asked Bob.

“I – I’d almost like to,” admitted Tom.

“Oh, you’ve made it all right, Tommy,” Dan consoled. “The cheek of trying to get from third year at Hillton to Erskine so flabbergasted them that they passed you before they recovered.”

“I hope so,” said Tom anxiously. “If I’ve missed it I’ll – ”

But they were alongside the steamer by that time and Tom forgot the subject of admission to Erskine College in the excitement of passing the big boat. There were not many persons aboard her, but what there were flocked to the rail and waved their handkerchiefs or caps. Bob gave a blast on the whistle and Dan peered out from the edge of the awning and blew a kiss. Ten minutes later the steamer was far behind and the Vagabond was churning her way across the waters of Buzzard’s Bay, with Sakonnet Point beckoning them ahead. Before five they were in Narragansett Bay and at twenty-two minutes past were tied up at the landing of the New York Yacht Club House.

They made hurriedly for the post office and were rewarded with a whole bundle of mail.

“Bear up bravely, Tommy,” said Nelson, who was sorting it over. “Here’s an epistle postmarked ‘Centerport.’”

“Oh, gosh!” muttered Tom as he took it.

The others were too much interested in receiving and outwardly examining their own letters to think further of Tom for several minutes. Then, as they turned to leave the office, Dan remembered.

“What’s the verdict, Tommy?” he asked.

Tommy shook his head silently.

“What? Missed it? Turned down?” cried Dan.

“I – I don’t know,” stammered Tom. “You – you read it.”

He held out the letter to Dan.

“Why, you haven’t opened it!” exclaimed the other. “What do you think of that, fellows? Tommy hasn’t the nerve to read it!”

“Oh … well…” murmured Tom, tearing the envelope. “I didn’t expect to get through, anyway.” The others watched anxiously as he unfolded the single sheet which the envelope contained. Tom’s face flushed suddenly as he read. Then a wonderful, all-encompassing smile started at the corners of his mouth and grew and grew until it became an expansive grin. The others howled as they looked. There was no need to ask the verdict.

“Pu-pu-pu-pu-pu – ” stuttered Tom.

“Good for you, Tommy!” cried Dan, whacking him on the back.

“ – Pu-pu-passed!”

“Hurrah for Thomas Ferris, 1910!” cried Nelson.

“How many conditions, Tommy?” asked Bob. Tom chuckled.

“Only three,” he answered. “How do you suppose I ever did it?”

“Can’t imagine,” laughed Bob, “unless you hypnotized ’em.”

“I’m jealous,” said Dan. “You’ve got one more condition than I have. I shall appeal to the Faculty.”

“Oh, th-th-th-that’s all right,” said Tom eagerly, “you can have one of mine!”

They returned to the launch very joyfully.

There were many letters to be read and each fellow found a corner for himself and soon became immersed in his mail. Now and then one or another would break out with an ejaculatory announcement of news, as when Nelson exclaimed: “Of course! I never thought of it! Say, fellows, dad says if we’d strained that gasoline through chamois skin there wouldn’t have been any water in it!” Or when Dan remarked: “The governor got a letter from Jerry Hinckley the other day, and Mr. Cozzens is going to coach him this summer himself and let him try for Hillton in the Fall!” Or when Tom announced impressively: “Ben Hur’s got four kittens and they’re all white.”

Not very important news to us, of course, but of vital interest to them.

They went ashore at half-past six and had what Tom called “swell grub.” Afterwards they explored the town and stayed up very late on deck, watching the lights and listening to the music of a far-off orchestra. There was a good moon and Dan wanted to weigh anchor and go on along the shore to the next harbor. But Nelson and Bob, mindful of Mr. Tilford’s instructions, vetoed the plan. Just as they were preparing to turn in, the Fall River Line steamer came into sight down the harbor, a huge black hulk pricked out with thousands of lights, and they had to return to the deck to watch her float past on her way to the pier.

The next day dawned almost cloudless and very warm. The Four were out of their bunks early and into their bathing suits. Then followed a glorious plunge from the deck into the gleaming blue water of the harbor, a brisk rub-down in the engine room and some of Tom’s good coffee and eggs and crisp bacon. By the time breakfast was over the heat had become intense and the awning, put away overnight, was rigged up again. Tom, who exhibited symptoms of an inclination to go to sleep in one of the chairs in the cockpit, was routed out and compelled to give assistance.

They had the water tank filled and then pulled up anchor and turned the Vagabond toward the Sound, where white sails moved slowly along and gave promise of a cooling breeze. Tom was allowed to take the wheel, but Bob kept beside him in case, as the latter explained, Tom should fall asleep. But in justice to Tom it should be said that he really didn’t show any tendency toward sleepiness. On the contrary he stuck out his chest pompously, twirled the wheel in an important way and did his best to look like a master mariner. Halfway down the harbor they overtook a strange looking craft containing a single occupant, a young chap who was squatted uncomfortably in a diminutive cockpit surrounded by a veritable tangle of pipes and wires. The boat, a gasoline launch, was about eighteen feet long, very slender and was painted a vivid crimson. On the bow they read, as they drew abreast, the inscription So Long. The forward two thirds of the launch was covered by a crown cabin. Between that and the after deck was a four-foot space in which were crowded the engine and the crew. The crew was in his shirt sleeves and was smoking a pipe. The launch was ambling along at about six miles an hour and making a frightful noise about it; the reports from her exhaust pipe were deafening.

“Some one ought to make him a present of a muffler,” said Nelson as they drew alongside.

The occupant of the So Long glanced up as they approached and studied the Vagabond idly and, as it seemed to Tom, somewhat superciliously. Tom leaned over the corner of the cabin roof.

“Hello!” he shouted. “Want to race?”

The crew of the little launch puffed at his pipe and looked calmly away, but made no answer. Bob laughed.

“He doesn’t know you, Tommy,” he said. “Never’s been introduced.”

“Conceited ass!” growled Tom. Then, “Hey there, you in the red tub!” he called. “Do you want a race?”

The crew of the So Long turned and viewed Tom silently. And quite as silently, and without a change of expression, he nodded his head indifferently.

“Come on then!” cried Tom.

The man in the “red tub” removed the pipe from his mouth, knocked the ashes out on the edge of the washboard, dropped it into his pocket, and began leisurely to busy himself with valves and switches.

“Turn her on, Nel,” said Tom. “Give her full speed.”

“All right,” laughed Nelson, “but I don’t believe we’ll need quite full speed to walk away from that boat.” He disappeared into the cabin.

“He’s a sport, anyhow,” declared Dan. “I like a chap that’s not afraid of being beaten.”

The Vagabond began to move through the water at a faster pace and Tom allowed himself a final gibe at the rival boat.

“So long!” he shouted.

The smaller boat was already several lengths behind and her crew was still bending over the engine.

“It takes him long enough to get her started,” said Bob. “I wonder – ”

But what Bob wondered was never disclosed. For at that moment there came a series of pistol-like reports from the So Long’s exhaust and the “red tub” suddenly dug her straight, sharp nose into the water, threw it away from her on each side in two long green waves and came alongside.

“Gosh!” exclaimed Bob.

They had a fleeting view of the placid countenance of the youth in shirt sleeves, a momentary impression of a brilliant crimson streak along the water and then they were gazing bewilderedly at each other. The So Long was lengths and lengths away and getting smaller every instant.

Nelson put his head out of the door, glanced toward where the other boat had been a minute before, looked puzzled, came out on deck and searched the neighborhood.

“Where is she?” he asked. “Sunk?”

For answer three hands pointed ahead. Nelson gazed a moment. Then he went silently below and slowed down the engine.

“How fu-fu-fast do you su-su-su-suppose she wu-wu-went?” asked Tom.

“About a mile a minute,” answered Bob gravely.

“I don’t believe she’s a launch at all,” said Dan. “I’ll bet she’s a blamed old automobile.”

“What was that remark you addressed to him just before she walked away, Tommy?” asked Bob.

“Shut up,” answered Tom sheepishly. “How did I know he had a streak of red lu-lu-lu-lightning? Where is she now?”

“Oh, about a mile ahead,” answered Nelson sadly. “Next time let’s pick out a chap our own size.”

“Well, she’s certainly a dandy!” said Bob. “She must do about thirty miles.”

“Maybe twenty-five,” said Nelson. “But that’ll hold us for awhile. Isn’t that her coming back?”

It was. They looked at each other inquiringly. Dan began to whistle. Tom glanced at Bob.

“You take the wheel,” he said finally. “I – I want to get something out of my locker.”

A shout of laughter went up.

“No, you’ll stay right where you are, Tommy,” said Bob, “and take your medicine. You’re to blame for it, anyhow.”

The So Long approached at full speed, cutting the water like a knife. The Four watched silently. When a little distance away the chap in shirt sleeves bent forward out of sight behind the arch of the cabin and the So Long’s speed decreased. But even so when the two boats met it was like an express train passing a freight on a siding. The chap in shirt sleeves looked across the twenty feet of water that separated the two boats and viewed the Four as calmly as ever, but there was a twinkle in his eye. As the “red tub” dashed by he waved his hand.

“So long!” he called politely.

“Hope you ch-ch-ch-choke!” sputtered Tom.

The others laughed at Tom’s discomfiture.

“Stung!” murmured Dan.

“He had you there, Tommy,” said Bob.

“I’ll bet Tommy won’t challenge any one else in a hurry,” Nelson laughed.

“Oh, well, what’s the good of having a boat like that, anyway?” asked Tom disgustedly. “Even if it does go fast there isn’t room to sit down in it comfortably. It’s a fool thing!”

Shortly afterwards they were off Point Judith, and in spite of the fact that the weather was calm and the ocean smiling there was a sea there that made the Vagabond cut all sorts of capers. Barry, who had been asleep on the cabin roof since breakfast, now descended to more comfortable quarters. But even in Bob’s lap he didn’t seem wholly happy and after a while he jumped down and disappeared into the cabin. Ten minutes later Nelson, who had been below to look at the engine, came back smiling broadly.

“Have we any lemons, Tommy?” he asked.

“Yes,” was the reply. “In the cupboard. Want one?”

“Not for myself, but Barry needs one.”

“Barry!” exclaimed Bob. “What’s the matter with him?”

“Well, you might just go down and see for yourself,” chuckled Nelson.

“Oh, get out! You can’t make me believe that Barry’s seasick! Who ever heard of a dog being seasick?”

“Well, you can’t get up an argument with me,” laughed Nelson. “But just the same, I’m glad it’s not my berth!”

Then Bob hurried below.

Ten minutes later Bob’s blanket was fluttering from the awning rod and Barry, curled up in a patch of sunlight and looking somewhat woe-begone, was striving to forget his recent discomfiture. They were past the point now and Block Island, which was their destination, was looming up clearly across the water some ten miles distant. They reached it at a little after eleven, found anchorage off the village and went ashore for what Bob called “an old-fashioned fish dinner.” Tom said he guessed they’d got it all right, because his fish was just about as old-fashioned as he’d ever found. But the others declared that it was all right and so Tom, declaring feelingly that he didn’t want to live without the others, ate his too. Later on Tom declared that he felt very uncomfortable and that he was certain he had ptomaine poisoning. But the others laughed at him and told him that any fellow who had eaten as much as he had ought to expect to feel uncomfortable. At two o’clock they were on their way again and making for New London, a matter of thirty-five miles distant.

CHAPTER XVII – IN WHICH DAN PLAYS A JOKE

Long before sunset the Vagabond was berthed for the night at the end of an otherwise empty pier scarcely a stone’s throw from the railroad station at New London.

“I don’t know who this wharf belongs to,” said Nelson as he passed the bow line up to Dan, “but there isn’t any notice to keep away and so we might as well use it.” “I think it’s an orphan pier,” said Dan as he ran the line through a ring and made it fast. “Anyhow, that’s the way it appears,” he added. Nelson groaned.

“That’ll do for you,” he said. “Leave plenty of slack there to allow for the fall of the tide. If those trains make as much noise to-night as they’re making now we’ll wish we’d anchored across the river.”

“Yes, I do hope the noise won’t keep Tommy awake,” said Dan concernedly.

“I think,” replied Tom, who was trying to make Barry stand on his hind legs and beg for a strip of bark torn from a spiling, “that it’s rather fun seeing trains again. I love engines, anyway. I used to think I’d be an engineer when I grew up.”

“Well, I think you’d make a success on the railroad,” said Bob thoughtfully, “but not as engineer.”

“What, then?” demanded Tom unsuspiciously.

“Why, you’d make a dandy sleeper, Tommy,” was the reply.

Presently they landed, crossed the railroad tracks, and skirted the little open space with its monument, erected, as Tom declared, to commemorate the discovery of New London by Thomas Ferris, the famous explorer. And just then they made another discovery. It was the eve of the Fourth of July. That fact was extremely evident. Up and down the street the sound of exploding firecrackers was deafening. Dan started to sing “The Night before the Fourth,” but Tommy darted into a store and when the others reached him he already had his arms full of crackers and Roman candles. Then they visited other shops and bought all sorts of things from news-papers to canvas shoes. Finally Dan was despatched to the launch with the purchases and the others went on up the hill to the big hotel. When Dan joined them he brought exciting news of a show which was announced for that evening at the local theater and during dinner they unanimously decided to attend.

“You ought to see the posters,” said Dan. “Oh, great! There’s one picture where the hero in a false yellow beard has got into the counterfeiters’ den and is holding them all at bay with a pistol in each hand, saying ‘The first to move is a dead man!’ Oh, it’s swell!”

“What’s it called?” asked Tom eagerly.

“‘The Counterfeiter’s Bride.’”

“Did you see the bride?” asked Bob.

“Yes, she was there, too; in a corner, with her face over her hands and – ”

“With what?” shouted the others.

“I mean with her hands over her face. She has beautiful golden hair and wears black; they always do. Then there’s a terribly funny picture of the comic fellow jumping out of a second-story window with a life-preserver strapped around his waist.”

“That doesn’t sound terribly funny,” remarked Bob.

“With a life-preserver on him?” demanded Dan. “It was a fire.”

“You didn’t say it was a fire. I thought he was jumping into a river or something.”

“Well, he isn’t; he’s jumping into the street.”

“Still,” hazarded Nelson, “maybe he put the life-preserver on to save him from automobiles. You know it’s a mighty dangerous thing, jumping into the street nowadays.”

“Oh, you fade away!” growled Dan. “I’m going to see it, anyway.”

“We all are,” said Bob. “I haven’t been to a theater since Christmas vacation.”

So go they did, and had a fine time. After they got back to the launch and had been welcomed by Barry Tom and Dan reproduced the second act in the engine room, Dan playing the rôle of the Secret Service hero and Tom doing the distracted bride. Barry somewhat marred the effectiveness of the supreme situation by thinking the whole affair organized for his amusement and trying to shake Dan off his feet just when the latter had covered Nelson and Bob with a pair of “sneakers” and was in the act of declaiming in a blood-curdling voice: “The first to move is a dead man!”

Nelson’s and Bob’s laughter drowned the line, but Tom, who had his face covered with his hands, continued to emit his piercing shrieks long after and had to be forcibly persuaded to desist. Then they went up on deck and set off Roman candles and firecrackers, a proceeding which sent Barry into paroxysms of excitement.

The next day, instead of continuing westward along the shore, they headed the Vagabond up the Thames River and had a Fourth-of-July excursion up to Norwich between smiling green hills against which nestled comfortable white farmhouses. Nelson grew reminiscent and retold the story of the only Harvard and Yale boat race he had witnessed, pointing out the quarters of the rival crews as they passed along. They spent a couple of hours in Norwich and came back in the afternoon. After they had passed under the railroad bridge and left New London behind Dan had an idea.

“Say, fellows,” he said, “instead of keeping on let’s stop along the shore here somewhere and camp out for the night. We can cook dinner on the beach and rig up a tent with the awning. What do you say?”

They said yes, instantly and enthusiastically. And at five they found a place that suited them, ran the launch into a little shallow cove and set about disembarking. Three trips were made in the tender, and before the last was completed Bob had a stone fireplace set up and Tom had gathered enough fuel to last a week. By mutual consent Bob became chef pro tem.

The cove was skirted by a little pebbled beach and in one place a tumble-down stone wall ambled out of the woods nearby and fell to pieces in the water, affording a very handy landing place for the tender. There was only one mishap, and that occurred when Tom strove to relieve Dan of a load of frying pans and dishes, lost his footing on a slippery stone and went into two feet of water with his burden. Luckily nothing was broken and Tom, by standing in front of the fire and turning slowly around, was soon able to get dry again. They locked the cabin on the Vagabond and made everything shipshape for the night. Then, at a little after six they squatted around the fire and ate fried eggs and bacon, baked potatoes and smoky toast and washed the repast down with smoky tea. But they all declared that it was the best supper they had tasted for a long time.

“It’s sort of a relief,” said Nelson, “to have things seasoned with wood smoke for a change. I was getting a little tired of Tom’s kerosene flavor.”

“It isn’t my fault,” defended Tom. “Your old stove smokes like the dickens.”

After supper they set to work with the deck awning and, not without several failures and many tribulations, at last rigged it up into the semblance of a tent. Then they discovered that they had left bedding entirely out of their scheme, and Bob and Tom rowed back to the launch for blankets. By that time it was twilight and the river and the Sound, just below them, were golden in the afterglow.

“Mighty pretty, isn’t it?” asked Bob as he drew in his oars and got ready to lay hold of the launch.

“Yes,” Tom answered without enthusiasm, “but I think it would be a heap more comfortable to sleep on the boat where we have decent mattresses than to lie on the ground.”

“Tommy, you’re a sybarite,” said Bob, as he climbed onto the launch.

“I don’t know what that is,” grumbled Tom as he followed, “but if it’s something that likes a decent bed I’m it.”

They kept the fire going until bedtime and watched its flames leap and writhe in the purple darkness. Then the moon came up and dimmed the firelight and showed them the Vagabond floating quietly at anchor a little way off. Tom looked toward it longingly.

“Wish I was there,” he murmured. And, after a moment, “What’s a sybilite, Dan?” he asked. Bob laughed.

“A ‘sybilite,’ Tommy,” he said, “is a person who’d rather sleep on a launch than on the ground.”

“That’s me,” sighed Tom. “I thought, though, it was a fellow who told fortunes, or something like that.”

“Oh, no,” said Dan, “that’s a gypsyite.”

“Hope you choke,” muttered Tom. “I’m going to bed, although I don’t suppose I’ll be able to sleep any.”

“Only about twelve hours,” jeered Dan.

When they awoke in the morning it was to a gray, wet world. A fine mist was falling, everything outside the improvised tent was sopping and the other side of the river was shut from view.

“There’s no use trying to make a fire with this wood,” yawned Bob. “I vote we go on board.”

Dan and Nelson agreed. Tom was silent, for after one disgusted look at the outside world he had turned over and promptly gone to sleep again.

“Let’s leave him,” whispered Dan.

“But we need the awning,” Nelson demurred. Dan chuckled.

“Sure, and we’ll take it. He’ll never wake up.”

So very quietly they gathered the things together and bore them to the landing. Two trips of the tender were sufficient, and on the second one they took the awning. Back at the edge of the woods, with the mist falling gently on his upturned face, slept Tom.

Barry seemed to appreciate the change of quarters as much as anyone and was soon curled up in a corner of Bob’s bunk. The dampness had got into their bones and all were stiff and full of queer little aches when they stretched their muscles.

“What we need,” said Nelson, “is some hot coffee and lots of it.”

“And right away quick,” added Dan.

So Bob got busy at the stove while the others put the awning back over the cockpit. While they were doing it they cast many amused glances across at the shore where Tom still slumbered under his gray blanket.

“I tell you what,” said Dan presently. “Let’s go on down the river around that point. Then when Tom wakes up he’ll think we’ve gone off without him. What do you say?”

Nelson laughed and agreed. So they pulled up the anchor, started the engine, and went slowly downstream until a point of woods hid them from the cove. Here they let down the anchor again and had breakfast. They were intensely hungry and spent the better part of half an hour at table.

“We’ll keep something hot for Tommy,” said Bob. “I’d just like to see his face when he wakes up and finds us gone!”

“So would I!” said Dan with a chuckle. “Poor old Tommy! Won’t he be fine and damp?”

“Don’t suppose he will catch cold and have rheumatism, do you?” asked Nelson doubtfully.

“Tommy? Catch anything? He’d never move fast enough,” laughed Dan. “I wonder what he will do, though, when he finds the launch gone.”

“Hope he doesn’t go hunting upstream instead of down,” said Nelson.

“Thunder! That would be awkward,” said Dan. “I say, maybe we’d better go back, eh? He ought to be awake by this time, and looking for us. And if he gets it into his silly head that we’ve gone up the river instead of down – !”

“I don’t believe he’s awake yet,” said Bob. “If he was we’d have heard him yelling for us.”

“I don’t know about that,” answered Nelson. “We must have come a good third of a mile downstream.”

“Anyway,” insisted Dan uneasily, “I think we’d ought to go back.”

“All right,” said Nelson. “Come on and we’ll hoist anchor. It seems to me we don’t do anything else nowadays; I’m getting a crick in my back over it.”

They went across the engine room and stepped out into the cockpit. Then they stared about them in surprise. There was nothing to be seen. The fog had crept up since they had gone below and was now stealing silently past them, blown landward before a tiny southeast breeze. Nelson and Dan looked at each other inquiringly.

“Isn’t this the dickens?” asked Dan.

“It surely is,” was the reply. “O Bob! Come out here!”

Bob appeared. After a moment of surprise he asked:

“Where’s the shore?” Nelson pointed off to starboard.

“Sure?” asked Bob.

“Yes, pretty certain. The tide’s still running in and so we can’t have swung around.”

“Hang these old fogs, anyhow!” growled Dan. “What are we going to do now?”

“Go back for Tommy,” answered Nelson. Bob looked doubtful.

“Can we do it?” he asked. “Aren’t you afraid of running into something?”

“No, I guess not. We’ll keep the whistle going, you can take the wheel, I’ll stand at the engine, and Dan can keep a lookout from the bow. We don’t draw much water and there weren’t any shallows as far as I could see coming down here. Besides, we ought to be able to see the shore at least ten feet away. If Dan keeps a good lookout and yells quickly, and you pass the word on down to me we’ll manage all right, I guess. Let’s get the mud-hook up.”