“What I want to know,” said Dick, who had again momentarily separated himself from the engine, “is where we’re going to lie up for the night.” “Well, there’s no hurry,” said Roy. “By six we ought to be--where, Chub?” Chub did some lightning calculating. “At Yonkers.” “The mischief! That’s no place to spend the night,” said Dick, disgustedly. “Why not?” Roy asked. “Some folks have to live there all the year round!” “We don’t have to stop there,” said Chub. “We’ll cross the river and find a nice, quiet spot along the Palisades.” “And as we’ll have to have some dinner--” “Supper,” corrected Chub. “You’d better start about now to get your hands clean, Dick. I never cared for the flavor of cylinder oil.” “Seems to me,” said Dick, “I’m in for a lot of work. When I signed for this trip I didn’t know I was to be engineer and cook, too.” “Oh, yes, you did, Dickums. You knew it, but you didn’t realize it.” “Well, then, you fellows needn’t complain if you don’t get all your meals on time,” answered Dick, morosely. “No, we won’t complain; we’ll simply throw you overboard. But I think Roy had better take lessons in engineering so that you can have your Thursday afternoons off. Dickums, take him down with you now and give him his first lesson.” “I want to steer for a while,” said Roy. But Chub shook his head. “I don’t feel that I can trust you,” he answered. “With all these young lives depending on careful navigation--” The others howled. “Considering that you hit everything in sight when we started out,” said Roy, “you’d better--” Chub viewed them scowlingly. “This sounds to me like mutiny,” he muttered. “Kindly put yourselves in irons.” Roy spent the next half hour studying “Somes on the Gas-Engine.” Toward six o’clock the _Slow Poke_ chugged across to the Jersey shore and after some discussion a place was selected for anchorage. There was a break here in the rocky wall of the Palisades and a little stream meandered down through a tiny valley. The woods came closely to the river’s edge, and after getting the _Slow Poke_ as near shore as her draft would permit, they carried lines from stern and bow and made them fast to trees. Then all hands set to to prepare supper. Chub established himself on the railing of the after deck and pared potatoes, pausing in his task whenever a boat went up or down the river. “Say, Dick,” he called, “you ought to bestir yourself to-morrow and clean that oil stove. I can smell it out here.” “Oil stoves always smell,” answered Dick from the galley. “Not if you keep them clean. Maybe it needs new wicks.” “Maybe it does. And maybe if you don’t finish paring those potatoes in the next hour or two we’ll have them for breakfast instead of supper.” “I like your cheek,” murmured Chub resuming his task with a sigh. “I’m fairly working my hands off out here. What’s that loafer Roy doing anyhow? Why don’t you put him at work?”