“Sure as me father’s name was Bill Hollback. It ain’t nuthin’ to me what they’s done. The perlice says to Bill Hollback, ‘Look out fur a house-boat,’ an’ I says to the perlice, ‘There she be,’ leastwise if they don’t up an’ skip afore the perlice git here.”
The water-front of Poughkeepsie presented a variety of picturesque and interesting sights. The “Lottie” sailed under the railroad bridge, and the boys greatly admired the immense structure. Then they went by the ferry slips, where one of the boats was just swinging out, and finally Old Bill headed out toward a slim, white-hulled yacht anchored near the opposite shore.
“Belongs to a New York feller,” he explained. “I know the cap’n.”
When the “Lottie” had sailed across the river, and circled around the handsome yacht, George declined an invitation from the good-natured mate to “step aboard,” and the skiff began her return voyage.
George was indeed sorry that their prospective trip to meet the house-boat had been so unexpectedly cut short.
“Bill,” he said, as they stood on the wharf and he handed the old sailor a two-dollar note, “does this pay you?”
“All fur me?” queried the other, arching his eyebrows in surprise.
“Every cent.”
“Wal, as sure as me father’s name was Bill Hollback and hisn was too, I’m surprised. Youngsters, I’m a friend of yourn fur life.”
“Good,” laughed George. “Now, Bill, I’m kind of curious about that house-boat—I’d like to know something about it. May we see you to-night?”