“Now, fellows,” remarked Aleck, “I’m going to finish that story about Joe Archer.”
“You had him at the Battery, last time,” grinned Joe.
“Yes, I know. It’s rich. Well, it was this way: Joe Archer was strutting around in the park, with that great walk of his, when, all of a sudden, he saw——”
“Say, that chap’s a dandy rider,” interrupted Joe. “Sits on his horse like a little major.”
“And the horse is a crackerjack, too,” put in Tom.
A boy on a white saddle-horse was rapidly approaching along the road.
Suddenly, as his eye rested on the house-boat and group in front, he reined in.
“Whoa, there, Bucephalus, whoa!” he exclaimed. “Steady, boy—whoa! Hello, you chaps, what is that funny-looking thing, anyway?”
“What does it look like?” asked Joe, witheringly.
“Like an old log hut that had broken loose from somewhere, and floated somewhere else. Whoa, you cheeky beggar! Say—belong to you chaps, eh?”