"Yes! Dad isn't kicking as much as I thought he would. Hurry up, fellows, scribble your letters and come."
"Oh ho!" drawled Dave. "Now for the 'bounding deep.' I can hardly believe," he added with a smile, "that we have seen the last of the Trailers."
In a short time, the boys trooped out on the street, walked rapidly along the main thoroughfare, passed the Badger State Hotel, and kept on to the pier, where one of the great bay steamers was making ready for departure.
The usual scene of activity was going on. Great boxes and bales, and apparently many kinds of merchandise were being hustled on board. Shouts and cries, altercations and commands filled the air, while passengers crowded up the gangplank. A loud blast of the whistle floated off on the breeze.
As was usually the case, the five boys, with their guns, attracted considerable attention, but to this they paid no heed.
"The 'Lake Michigan' is a mighty fine boat," observed the poet laureate, as they strode through the saloon.
"Must have cost a sight of money to build; it's a regular palace," commented Dick Travers.
Up on the main deck, the boys provided themselves with camp chairs, and, taking a position near the stern, watched the ever-changing scene below with interest.
Another blast of the whistle, and finally the "Lake Michigan" swung slowly out from the wharf.
"I'm glad we are going," said Bob, with satisfaction. "No more motor boats, no more Trailers—seems queer, doesn't it?"