“What for?” asked Chub, haughtily. “Let her get out of our way.” “Law requires sailing craft to give way to dories and such and steamboats to give way to sail-boats,” responded Dick, knowingly. “Listen to the Ancient Mariner,” jeered Chub. But he pulled a lever that slowed down the engine, and so allowed the sail-boat to bob out of harm’s way. Chub had a chart spread out in front of him, and now and then he pointed out the places along the way with the manner of a discoverer, though Roy said it seemed more like a ride in a sight-seeing automobile. “Manhattanville on our right, gentlemen. On the left historic Fort Lee.” “What happened there?” asked Dick. “I don’t know.” “Then how do you know it’s historic?” “All forts are historic,” answered Chub, loftily. “Across the river are historic Fort Washington and historic Fort George.” “I suppose the next fort is historic Fort Cherry-tree,” muttered Dick, skeptically. “I don’t see any forts, anyhow. I’m going down again--” [Illustration: The “Jolly Roger” begins her cruise up the Hudson River] “To throw more oil on that poor old engine,” mourned Roy. “Dick, let me remind you that oil costs money. You’ve already squandered about a gallon.” “Get out! We only had a quart to begin with. I’m not going to put any more oil on, anyway; I just want to see how she’s working.” “Dick thinks that if he isn’t sitting beside that engine holding its hand it’ll get mad and quit work,” laughed Chub. “Let him go, Roy, for goodness’ sake!” So Dick climbed over the side and disappeared into the tiny engine-room to sit on a camp-stool with a bunch of dirty waste in his hand and watch the engine fascinatedly. The departure of the house-boat had been quite devoid of brilliant features. The groceries and supplies had been delivered early, suit cases and other luggage had been brought across town in a cab, and by noon all was in readiness. The boys had returned to the house for an early luncheon and afterward, accompanied by Mr. and Mrs. Porter and Mr. Somes, had come down to the sea in two bright red taxicabs. The older folks had been shown over the boat and had then stood on the end of the wharf and waved good-by while the _Jolly_--pardon me, the _Slow Poke_ had been warped out of the slip and had started up the river. But Roy’s parents and Dick’s father had not been the only spectators, and many and sarcastic had been the comments from the assembled wharf hands and loiterers. But the boys hadn’t cared. They had been far too excited and busy. The _Slow Poke_ didn’t answer very readily to her helm, and as a result Chub, gallantly assisted by Roy, had run into the end of a pier and narrowly escaped colliding with a lighter. At four o’clock Chub announced that the _Slow Poke_ had accomplished about four miles. They were then off what Chub called “picturesque Tubby Hook.” Roy had to see the name on the chart before he would believe in the existence of any such place.