“Right you are, Dickums. Yours is the wisdom of the owl and the cunning of the serpent.”
They spent a quiet day. They would have liked to go ashore and tramp, but didn’t dare leave the boat lest the relentless Mr. Ewing should descend upon it in their absence. So, instead, they read and wrote letters on the upper deck under the awning, which was stretched for the first time. To be sure, they had been away from home only two days, but, as Roy pointed out, more had happened to write about during those two days than was likely to happen in the next two weeks, and they might as well make the most of it. The quiet lasted until about four o’clock when Whiting’s thunder-storm, which had been growling menacingly for an hour or more, descended upon them in full fury. There was a busy time getting the awning down again, and then, somewhat damp, they retreated to the forward cabin and watched the rain lash the river and listened to the roaring of the storm. It was all over in half an hour, leaving the air cool and refreshing. They had a good supper and afterward, at about eight, pulled up anchor and headed the Slow Poke diagonally down the river until it was opposite the place where Chub had undressed and left his coat. There Chub jumped into the tender and rowed ashore. The others watched anxiously while the Slow Poke sauntered along with the current but in five minutes Chub was back again, his clothes in a bundle in the bottom of the tender.
“Didn’t see a soul,” he answered in response to the questions of the others. “Start her up, Dick, and we’ll go back.”
It wasn’t so easy to sleep that night, for the trains went rushing by on an average of every half hour, shrieking and clattering. But they managed to doze off at intervals until well toward morning when, having become inured to the racket, they slept soundly until the alarm-clock in Chub’s bedroom went off.
“I move you,” said Chub at breakfast, “that we get out of this vicinity as soon as we can. I’ve had enough excitement to last me for a month. I’m for the silent reaches and the simple life!”
[CHAPTER XIII]
CHUB TRIES A NEW BAIT
I could write in detail of the next three days, but the narrative would only bore you, for nothing of special interest happened. In brief, then, they made an early start the morning after the escape from Mr. Ewing and the arm of the law, and were soon rounding the bend in the river opposite Peekskill. By one o’clock they were in sight of West Point and so kept on until they found a mooring at the steamboat pier. There they ate dinner and afterward spent two hours “doing” the Military Academy. Dick declared that if they didn’t see another thing, that alone was worth the whole trip, and the rest agreed with him. At twilight, they sidled the Slow Poke across to shore almost under the frowning face of Storm King. There was deep water there, and when the mooring ropes were made fast they could step from the deck of the house-boat right onto the bank. The map showed dozens of streams and several small ponds, and it was decided that they would remain there for a while and try the fishing. They slept on board that night, but the next afternoon they rigged the little shelter tent which they had brought between the trees at a little distance from shore, and made camp. Dick and Roy fashioned a fireplace of stones and when the weather was fair the meals were prepared over a wood fire. Chub declared that he preferred the flavor of wood smoke to kerosine. For two days they tramped around the neighboring country and fished to their hearts’ content, finding several good trout pools. It was on the second day that Chub caught his “two-pounder.” To be sure, Dick and Roy declared that it didn’t weigh over a pound and a quarter, but Chub retorted that that was only their jealousy and that if there was a scales on board he would soon prove his estimate correct. But there wasn’t a scales to be found and so Chub’s claim was never disproved. He held the trout out at arm’s-length while Roy photographed it, and when the picture developed the fish looked like a salmon rather than a trout.
“You might as well call it a ten-pounder as a two,” said Dick. “Anyone would believe you. Why, that fish is half as big as you—in the picture!”