“Yes, and it would be a dandy afternoon to do no painting at all,” answered Chub. “Let’s go out in the launch and bum around up and down the river. Let’s go over to Coleville and make faces at Hammond. By the way, I wonder if Mr. Cole comes from Coleville.”
Dick finally allowed himself to be persuaded that it would do them more good to take a sail than to paint, and so they all four piled into the Pup and, as Chub put it, went barking around for an hour or more, Harry serenely happy at being allowed to take the wheel and steer, Snip fast asleep in her lap. Harry reverted to the subject of the birthday party that they were to give her and begged them not to forget to invite the Licensed Poet.
“We won’t,” said Chub. “And, say, why not ask the Floating Artist, too?”
“That’ll be lovely!” cried Harry, laughingly. “A Licensed Poet and a Floating Artist for supper!”
“That’s all right,” answered Dick, “but I’d rather have a Broiled Beefsteak.”
“I have an idea,” remarked Chub, “that the Licensed Poet won’t be able to accept.”
“Why?” demanded Harry anxiously.
“I think he’s going to be busy Thursday night.”
“Doing what?”
“Well, I don’t know just what,” answered Chub mysteriously, “but something.”