No music could have sounded sweeter to the boys than the chug-chug which was carried away on the breeze.
As the house-boat slowly swung out into the stream, the seven shouted again. Good-byes shot back and forth; Mr. Lyons, Mr. Somers and Mr. Winter waved their hands; the loungers shouted and laughed—the voyage was begun.
“Isn’t this immense?” said Jack, gleefully, as he turned on full power. “Bet some of those chaps on the wharf wish they were going. What’s that, Joe? Sure, we’ll cross the Hudson—get right over to the Jersey side. Keep your eyes open, fellows,—we don’t want to sink any steamers.”
“Keep a sharp watch for icebergs,” said Bob. “Remember the ‘Titanic.’”
“Look at the land skipping by,” cried Fred. “Bet we’re going all of three miles an hour.”
The blue water lapped and gurgled against the boat, and a gentle breeze tempered the heat. White clouds were slowly passing across the sky, and shadows chased each other over land and water. To their left rose Washington Heights, and to the right another ridge of hills was outlined against the sky. Houses dotted the landscape, and smoke stained and streaked the horizon.
“Ja-ck, Jaa-ck!” came floating over the air; “Jaaa-ck!”
“What’s up now?” cried Jack. “Wonder what little Bobby wants.”
“Ja-a-a-ck,—Ja-a-a-a-ck!”
“Better swing around, and see,” counseled Bob Somers.