“How do you make it go?” asked Dave, languidly.
“Oh, I’m coming to that. A Mr. Marshall we know owned a motor boat; and, last month, this boat motored right into a barge. That kind of scared Mr. Marshall—he found he didn’t like the sport so much as he thought he would; and what do you think?”
“Lots of things,” cried the interested Tommy; “go ahead.”
“When he heard about our house-boat he said we could have the engine for it. Wasn’t that nice of him?”
The Ramblers agreed that it showed a thoughtful and proper spirit.
“That’s what I say,” exclaimed Jack, enthusiastically. “And he’s going to have the motor sent right over, too.”
“Who will install it in the house-boat?” queried Bob.
“Jim Benton, a machinist who has done a lot of work for dad. But come on, fellows; Joe thinks he can beat us out to the Harlem River. And say, Bob, when you get a chance, ask your father about going on that trip with us.” And Jack, happy and excited, fairly dashed out of the room.
They were on the street in a few moments. It was a very hot morning in August, with hardly a breath of air stirring.
“Fellows, I have a dreadful fear that I’m going to melt,” sighed Dave Brandon, vigorously mopping his face.