Close at hand rose the dark, wooded slope of Fir Island, a low, rounded hill that divided the stream into two channels. They watched its form becoming clear and distinct, and compared the trip with others that were made in the "Lively."
To say that the performance of the "Rambler" was up to expectations is expressing it very mildly. The island was reached and passed in an astonishingly short space of time.
"A daisy trip ahead of us, that's sure," cried Bob. "Doesn't it skim along smoothly, eh, Chubby? No trouble at all to run it."
"You are pleased, then, boys?" queried Mr. Somers, with a smile.
"No words for it," drawled Dave.
"You must, as the poet laureate, include the 'Rambler' in one of your verses."
Dave smiled.
"Very likely I will," he said.
"Just see what a distance we've come already!" exclaimed Dick Travers.
"Never thought motor-boating was as fine as this," put in Tom Clifton. "Can't blame Nat Wingate for wanting to join the club. Maybe he isn't sore, fellows," and Tom laughed at the recollection.