“No, something really classy. How’s this,” and Jack quickly printed on a piece of paper the name now glinting on either bow of the craft.
“Corbelbes,” repeated his sister. “That isn’t half bad. What is it, Spanish or Latin?”
“It’s French for curling iron and face powder,” laughed Jack.
“You mean thing!”
“No, it isn’t, Sis. Don’t you see, it’s the first part of the names of all three of you.”
“Oh, so it is.” Cora was smiling now.
“What better name could you have for a boat?” Jack demanded. “It’s something distinctive and individual.”
Cora and her chums agreed with him, and the motor boat became the Corbelbes, and as such had remained.
“Does she steer all right, Cora, with the new tiller ropes on?” asked Jack, as he lolled lazily on one of the cushioned lockers, which, at night, could be turned into comfortable bunks.
“A bit stiff,” responded his sister.