Chub hesitated, frowning tensely. Dick and Roy grinned. At length—
“Very well, if you put it that way,” acceded Chub. “I never could refuse a lady. We will go, even against our inclinations. Dick, clear the viands from the board.”
Dick and Roy burst into laughter, while Harry looked perplexedly from them to Chub’s grave countenance.
“There aren’t any viands,” blurted Dick. “We haven’t anything but bacon and potatoes.”
“Oh!” said Harry. “Chub Eaton, you’re a dreadful fibber! It would just serve you right if I—if I recalled my invitation.”
“Jehoshaphat!” shrieked Chub, leaping up the path. “I won’t give you a chance! I’ll tell your mother you’ll be right up.” They heard him scrambling up through the grove ahead of them. But when they reached the gate in the hedge which divided the school grounds from the woods Chub was awaiting them. “We will all go in together,” he announced with dignity. “It will look much better.”
So they went across to the doctor’s residence, mounted the steps, and found themselves in the little parlor shaking hands with Doctor and Mrs. Emery and the latter’s sister, who was to remain at the Cottage during the absence of Harry and her father.
Chub and Roy and Dick had been quite intimate with the doctor and his wife during their school years, and the latter were unmistakably glad to see them again. Luncheon was ready and they all trooped into the dining-room. Of course, there was much to tell and the doctor asked a good many questions of Chub and Roy regarding their college experience. Afterward the conversation worked around to the cruise, and Chub recounted their adventures up to date, winning more than one hearty laugh from his audience. Mrs. Emery wanted them to bring their luggage ashore and occupy beds in one of the dormitories during their stay at Ferry Hill, but they declined the invitation, electing to stand by their ship. It was agreed that the Slow Poke was to remain at Ferry Hill two days. Then the Doctor and Harry were to go aboard, and the cruise was to continue up the river. There was only one dissenting voice, and that was Dick’s.
“Seems to me,” he said, “we ought to turn around and go down stream a while. The Slow Poke’s been tussling with the current ever since we started. We ought to give her a rest and let her float with the tide for a while.”
“Oh, shucks,” Chub objected, “put some more oil on the engine, Dickums. What’s the good of going over the same ground—I mean the same water—twice? Let’s discover new worlds.”