"We're off!" cried the young captain, gaily.
"Three cheers for Skipper Hamilton and his steam yacht!" yelled Paul Drew.
"Cut it out!" ordered Dick, turning red. "You can cheer the boat, but not me."
But his companions did not heed, and sent out their ringing cries. Commanders on other vessels nearby heard, and, thinking a gay party was starting off on a cruise, saluted the Albatross with the regulation three blasts of their whistles, to which Captain Barton responded, so that the progress down the bay was somewhat in the nature of an ovation, as other craft, following suit, also rendered homage.
Down through the Narrows steamed the fine yacht, gathering speed; out past Forts Wadsworth and Lafayette, threading her way along the buoyed channel, passing Coney Island on the left, swinging out more to sea as Atlantic Highlands was sighted, and then, pushing across the nose of Sandy Hook, the Albatross flew on toward the deep ocean.
"We're off!" cried Dick again, as he leaned over the rail and watched the blue water. "Off for Cuba, and all sorts of adventures, fellows."
There were more adventures in store for the young millionaire and his chums than they ever imagined.