"Every Sunday."
"I am sorry for you. You are under the thumb of that old hunker who calls himself the principal, and you don't know enough to catch the straw when you are drowning. I gave the old hunks some!"
"And he took you by the collar, and put you into your boat, and served you right. Give way!" added Matt.
"He's an old squalipop; and he will be likely to hear from me again! He is no gentleman, and he treated me like an uneducated owl. I shall pay him off for it, or my name is something besides Spickles," foamed the skipper of the La Motte.
At this moment, and while the barge was backing away, one of the party brought out a tray, on which were tall glasses filled with beer; and each member of the Nautifelers Club took one of them.
"Here's to the Nautifelers Club! Lots of fun to them, and confusion to old Squalipop!" shouted Spickles, at the top of his lungs, as he and his companions drank off the contents of the glasses.
The barge darted away from the schooner, and was soon out of hail of her. It was evident that the members of the club with the Greek name had bargained for an extensive frolic of the coarsest sort, and most of the crew of the Winooski were simply disgusted with the members of it. Some of them had come from the city, and were more or less familiar with such sights.
"I should rather like to join that club," said Tom Topover, when the boat was some distance from the La Motte.
"You are not one of that sort of fellows now, Tom," added the coxswain. "You have got beyond that kind of a life, and I hope you are strong enough to keep above it."
"You know how to preach, Matt; but I don't want to sit under your preaching. Those fellows are going to have a good time; and I think they will enjoy it," added Tom pleasantly, as some of his old temptations came back to him. "Do you know those fellows, Matt?"