"Did I ever see any?" snorted the tall man. "Boys—you hear that? Askin' old Joe Tomlin sich a question."
"He's makin' fun of ye, Joe," said some one, with a sly wink.
"No one kin do that," exclaimed the other, fiercely. "See here, kid——"
But the Ramblers had entered the hotel.
They soon found Howard Fenton, who introduced them to his father, a slender, grave-looking gentleman wearing a beard.
But they soon found that Mr. Fenton's cold appearance belied his nature. He entered into their talk with almost the zest of a boy, and all were really sorry when he declined an invitation to accompany them.
"Just the kind of weather for a sail," observed Howard, as they walked out upon the wharf.
The sky was partly overcast and the low clouds scudded before a breeze that deeply rippled the surface of the lake. Several boats moored to the pilings were lazily rocking or straining at their ropes. The largest was the "Dauntless," a staunch boat, built both for speed and safety.
"It's mine, boys," said Fenton, with a smile. "Jump in, and let me show you what a good sailor I've become."
The lines were cast off and the sail run up. In an instant it filled out. Careening over, under the full force of the wind, the "Dauntless" plunged her bow into the choppy water, and a cloud of spray dashed over the rail. Soon she was fairly racing toward the islands, Promontory rising grim and majestic against the lowering sky.