“Then you like motor boating, do you?” inquired the Boston broker.
“Like it?” echoed Hank. “Why, sir, motor boating is the only sport for a rich man, and the only job for a poor one. I came near saying I’d sooner be cabin boy on a motor craft than a member of Congress. And I’m not sure, sir, but what that’s right.”
Eleven o’clock found the cabin darkened, and all but the necessary lights out. Owner and guests were in their berths. Halstead was soon sound asleep and Joe dozed in a berth in the engine room, where he could be ready for duty instantly if the engine needed his attention.
Hank, at the wheel, handled the craft carefully, though he was dreaming a goodly bit under that fine August night sky.
“A member of the Club,” he repeated to himself over and over again. “Whee! I hope I’m skipper of a craft like this myself one of these days. Being steward and crew ain’t so bad, yet I surely do envy Tom Halstead.”
In the morning, as on the day before, the “Rocket” was berthed punctually. This time Tom and Joe were not invited to go up to the Stock Exchange. They would have liked immensely to have seen the day’s doings, but there was an abundance of work to be done aboard.
“I shall probably have the same party again to-night,” said Mr. Delavan, before going ashore. “Coggswell will be with us, too, if it is possible to get him to come.”
At one o’clock that afternoon Captain Tom was summoned to the telephone office nearest the pier to talk with his employer.
“That you, Captain Halstead?” came the voice of Delavan over the wire. “Good enough. What I have to say is that I’m going to give the ‘Rocket’ a rest for a little while.”
“Are you going to lay the boat up, sir?” asked Tom, feeling a start of disappointment, for he had grown very fond of his present work.