The car glided upon the ferry-boat with just an instant to spare and came to a stop behind a farmer’s wagon.
Had the day been pleasant, the two boys would have thoroughly enjoyed the experience. Close by was the great railroad bridge, behind them rose a line of picturesque hills, and across the river lay Poughkeepsie, at the present moment quite hidden by rain and mist.
In a few moments, the ferry-boat was under way. The wind had kicked up the surface of the gray, gloomy river into whitecapped waves, and the boys could not help wondering how the “Gray Gull” was faring amidst such a storm.
Gradually the buildings of the town became visible; then the ferry-boat entered her slip, and the red touring car slowly followed the farmer’s wagon into the street, and up the hill.
Main Street is a wide, pleasant thoroughfare lined on either side with good-sized buildings, and, in spite of the stormy weather, presented a busy appearance.
George kept to the side of the car track.
“Garage isn’t far,” he said. “And won’t I be glad to get there? If Pierre knew about our trip, he’d have the laugh on us.”
“Yes, he would,” said Aleck, dismally.
“We’ll swing right around this corner, and——”
“Better let the car back of us pass,” interrupted Aleck.