“Pamet River. Now, there’s a fool name; Pamet. But I suppose they got crazy in the head like a fish when they got this far. I’ll bet the rest of the names are terrors.” “I heard that years and years ago all this part of the Cape was thick forest,” observed Bob. “Oh, you hear funny things,” said Dan. “Fact, though,” Bob asserted. “Well, a few trees would help some now,” said Nelson. “It’s a lonely looking stretch, isn’t it? They say the State pays out thousands of dollars every year planting beach grass along here.” “What for?” asked Tom suspiciously. “To hold the sand,” Nelson replied. “The wind and the ocean play hob with the coast along here.” “What’s that ahead there on the shore?” asked Bob, pointing. “Looks like—Oh, I know! It’s the wireless-telegraph station,” answered Tom. “That’s Wellfleet.” “Let’s get them to report us,” suggested Dan. “‘Passed South, launch _Vagabond_, Captain Tilford; all well except the cook who is suffering with stomach ache from too much candy.’” “First thing I heard this morning,” said Nelson, “was Tommy chewing that peanut taffy stuff he bought. I’ll bet his bunk is full of it.” “I don’t know about the bunk,” said Bob dryly, “but I’ll bet that Tommy is.” At a little after two they reached Pollock Rip, passed within two hundred yards of Shovelful Light-ship and bore southwest around the lower corner of the Cape. Shoals were numerous and the water decidedly unquiet. The _Vagabond_ plunged and kicked, rolled and tossed until Handkerchief Light-ship had been left to port. Southward Nantucket lay stretched upon the water, and to the southwest the hills of Martha’s Vineyard rose blue and hazy from the sea. There was much to see now, for Nantucket Sound was well dotted with sails, while here and there smoke streamers proclaimed the presence of steamboats. One of these, an excursion boat well loaded with passengers, passed close to starboard of them and they spent several moments in politely answering with the whistle the fluttering handkerchiefs and waving hats. It was nearly half-past five when the _Vagabond_, with over eighty-five miles to her credit since morning, swung around East Chop Light, chugged into Vineyard Haven Harbor and dropped her anchor off the steamship wharf. “To-day’s cruise,” said Nelson, while they were sprucing up for an evening ashore, “goes to show the difference between poor gasoline and good gasoline. I’d like to fill a launch up with some of those Standard Oil people, put some of that Sanstable gasoline in her tank and set her fifty miles offshore; that’s what I’d like to do!” They walked over to Cottage City and had dinner—and oh, didn’t it taste good!—at a big hotel, returning to the launch at nine o’clock through a sweet-scented summer night and tumbling into bed as soon as their sleepy bodies allowed. CHAPTER XIV—IN WHICH TOM DISAPPEARS FROM SIGHT