“What I want to know,” said Dick, who had again momentarily separated himself from the engine, “is where we’re going to lie up for the night.”
“Well, there’s no hurry,” said Roy. “By six we ought to be—where, Chub?” Chub did some lightning calculating.
“At Yonkers.”
“The mischief! That’s no place to spend the night,” said Dick, disgustedly.
“Why not?” Roy asked. “Some folks have to live there all the year round!”
“We don’t have to stop there,” said Chub. “We’ll cross the river and find a nice, quiet spot along the Palisades.”
“And as we’ll have to have some dinner—”
“Supper,” corrected Chub.
“You’d better start about now to get your hands clean, Dick. I never cared for the flavor of cylinder oil.”