“You guessed it the first time,” said Jack.
“Well, it’s the funniest-looking thing that ever floated around these parts. Ever see a horse dance before? Whoa, Bucephalus! Where’d you come from, and where are you going?”
“The ‘Gray Gull,’ from New York, bound to Albany; Jack Lyons, master,” said Joe.
“To Albany?” The boy whistled. “Jolly good distance—but what a dandy idea. Great Scott, I wish I could go on a trip like that! Take passengers?”
“We’ve taken one, already,” laughed Jack.
“How about another?”
“We might——”
“Well, don’t let your enthusiasm bubble over too much. But, say—honest, I am interested. Bucephalus won’t let me talk. Want to come up to the house a minute?”
“Where is it?”
“That big one, with the columns in front.”