The next morning the luggage was dispatched to the wharf, and, after a hurried breakfast had been eaten and they had bade good-by to Nelson’s mother, the four followed. The provisions were there before them, and for an hour they were busy stowing things away. It was wonderful what a lot of supplies and clothing and personal belongings it was possible to pile away in that little cabin. The cushions, mattresses, and awning were brought aboard, and the cockpit was supplied with two of the wicker chairs belonging there. The side lights and riding light were filled, trimmed, and put in place, the searchlight tank recharged, and the ice box filled. Everybody was intensely busy and excited, and Barry was all over the boat and under everyone’s feet. Mr. Tilford hurried over from his office at ten o’clock, looked things over anxiously and hurried off again to attend a meeting at eleven, shaking hands all around and wishing them good luck. Then the launch was hauled around to the head of the wharf to have her gasoline and water tanks filled. By that time Nelson had invaded the flag locker, and the _Vagabond_ was in holiday trim fore and aft. From the bow fluttered the pennant of the Boston Yacht Club and, beneath it, the owner’s burgee, an inverted anchor in white, forming the letter T, on a divided field of red and blue. Over the stern hung the yachting ensign. Their personal effects were disposed of in the stateroom; underclothing and such apparel in the chiffonier, toilet articles in the lavatory, sweaters and oilskins on the hooks, and shoes in the berth lockers. Tom, to whom had fallen the distribution of the provisions, had completed his task, and the ice box and shelves above were full. Doubtless they had taken aboard a great deal more than they would stand in need of, but that is an error that most inexperienced mariners commit. Save for such things as eggs and butter and bread, their provisions were mostly canned or preserved. At eleven Nelson busied himself with the engine, filling his oil cans and cups, cleaning and polishing. The batteries were brand new and so was the wiring, and when he tried the spark he smiled his satisfaction. “Fat and purple,” he muttered. “Who is?” asked Tom resentfully as he slammed down the lid of the ice box. “The spark, Tommy, my boy,” was the reply. “I was not referring to you; you’re not purple, are you?” “No, nor fat, either. Say, what’s this? I thought it was something to eat at first.” “That,” answered Nelson, “is something you’ll become better acquainted with to-morrow, Tommy. That is a nice quart can of metal polish.” “Huh! I’d like to know what I’ve got to do with it!” “Oh, the cook always shines the bright-work.” “Now, look here——” “Careful,” warned Nelson, “or we’ll put you in irons for mutiny.” “Guess the iron wouldn’t be any worse than the brass,” said Tom with a grin.