“It isn’t that I mind the expense so much,” muttered Chub, “but I hate to think what would happen if any one carelessly dropped a match in this part of the boat. She’s so saturated with that smelly oil that she’d simply go up in a burst of flame.” “No engine will run smoothly without plenty of oil,” grumbled Dick. “I don’t expect it to, Dickums, but there’s such a thing as being overkind. Some morning you’ll wake up and find that poor engine floating lifelessly on a sea of cylinder oil. You’re simply drowning it!” The morning of the twenty-first found them still some twenty miles below Ferry Hill and the _Slow Poke_ was put at her best pace in the hope of reaching her destination by luncheon-time. And she responded nobly to the demand, nosing her way up to the boat-house landing at Ferry Hill shortly before one o’clock. CHAPTER XV HARRY GOES TO SEA “Back to the old home,” murmured Chub, as he leaned over the railing of the upper deck and let his gaze travel over the scene before him. Beside the landing at the right was the boat-house; to the left, the little stretch of white beach; before him, the winding path leading upward through a thick grove of rustling trees. Afar up on the hill, the tower of School Hall showed above the tree-tops. Roy, on the float, took a final hitch in the bow line, straightened himself, and looked about. “Things haven’t changed much, have they?” he asked. “Can’t expect them to, in less than a year,” answered Chub. “There’s Hammond over there,” muttered Roy, shading his eyes and looking across the glittering river. “Well, that’s just where we left it,” laughed Chub. “And Harry’s Island is in the same place, too, strange as it may seem. And the river still flows to the south, and--” “Oh, yes,” said Roy. “But I don’t think much of the welcome they’ve provided, do you?” “I do not,” answered Chub, with emphasis. “I expected at least a brass band and a collation.” “Bother the brass band,” said Dick, appearing from the engine-room wiping his oil-stained hands on a piece of waste. “But a collation has a cheerful sound.” “I thought surely that Harry would be here,” said Roy, with a trace of disappointment. “I wonder if she’s back.” He looked up the path. “Maybe she didn’t get that letter,” suggested Dick. “If she didn’t she wouldn’t know when to look for us. And here we have invited ourselves to luncheon!” “Let me see,” inquired Chub, “we posted that letter at the hotel, didn’t we?” “Of course,” answered Dick. “Roy wrote it that afternoon; don’t you remember?” “I remember his writing it,” said Chub, “but I never saw it afterward. Did you mail it at the office, Roy?” “Yes--er--I guess so. I put it in my pocket when we went to dinner.” “Ten to one, you didn’t mail it!” exclaimed Dick.