“Goodness; my job as historian is threatened,” murmured Dave.
“Gee whiz! A history of the trip?”
“Certainly! Why not?”
“Begin to-night, eh?”
“No—to-morrow.”
“Oh, oh!”
And the rest began to chuckle and gurgle, and Joe scornfully walked out on the promenade deck, closely followed by Confuse-us.
The moon shone brightly, and a cool, refreshing breeze came from the west. Masses of clouds, now gray and solemn-looking, rested in the rapidly darkening sky. Yonkers was aglow with lights. Singly and in clusters, they flashed from the line of hills and along the water-front. As Joe sat down, he heard the whistle of a locomotive and saw one of the New York Central trains skirting the river. At the base of the Palisades, a lone camp-fire spurted tongues of flame against the gloom beyond, and the sighing breeze brought with it the sound of voices.
“Up anchor, fellows,” commanded Captain Jack. “Guess we can make a mile or two.”
Willing hands seized the chain, and, with a rattle and bang and lots of unnecessary noise, the anchor was dragged aboard.