“He knows all about them, sir,” answered Dick.
“Does, eh? Well, then supposing you walk back to the boat with me and look over mine, Noon? It hasn’t been acting quite fair lately. I don’t mind its stopping now and then for a day or so, but it’s been overdoing it recently; it’s been imposing on me.”
So the Floating Artist and the Licensed Poet took their departure, followed by Jack. When they were gone Harry turned to the boys.
“Why do you suppose he wants to paint me?” she cried breathlessly.
“Well,” answered Roy judicially, “you know you’re not half bad looking, Harry.”
“Pshaw!” exclaimed Chub. “It’s a case of love at first sight. He just wants an excuse to see her. Oh, look at Harry’s blushes, fellows!”
“I’m not blushing!” cried Harry, with a stamp of her foot.
“Oh, of course not,” answered Chub, “it’s just the light from the fire!”
“You’re terribly fickle, though,” teased Dick. “A few days ago it was the Licensed Poet, and now—”