It was a pleasant boat-ride to the Nub.
"Welcome!" shouted several young men in chorus as Dick's dory neared the shore of the Nub. They stood on a broad, flat stone, for which the rock-weed had woven a brown mat, and on the crown of the ledge behind them rose a tent tipped with a dirty flag.
"Hurrah!" responded Dick.
"Hurrah!" shouted Dave.
"I thought, Dick," said Dave, "only Sam Whittles was here."
"Oh, these fellers came down last night. Just to spend a couple of days, you know."
"Who are they?"
"Oh, Jimmy Dawes, I believe, and there's Steve Pettigrew and a Keese Junkins."
Dave's feelings of like and dislike were very quick in their operation, and he now said to himself, "Don't fancy those specimens!"
They were showily rather than tastefully dressed, strutted about with a self-important air, and their talk was loud, coarse, and slangy.