The next day dawned almost cloudless and very warm. The Four were out of their bunks early and into their bathing suits. Then followed a glorious plunge from the deck into the gleaming blue water of the harbor, a brisk rub-down in the engine room and some of Tom’s good coffee and eggs and crisp bacon. By the time breakfast was over the heat had become intense and the awning, put away overnight, was rigged up again. Tom, who exhibited symptoms of an inclination to go to sleep in one of the chairs in the cockpit, was routed out and compelled to give assistance. They had the water tank filled and then pulled up anchor and turned the _Vagabond_ toward the Sound, where white sails moved slowly along and gave promise of a cooling breeze. Tom was allowed to take the wheel, but Bob kept beside him in case, as the latter explained, Tom should fall asleep. But in justice to Tom it should be said that he really didn’t show any tendency toward sleepiness. On the contrary he stuck out his chest pompously, twirled the wheel in an important way and did his best to look like a master mariner. Halfway down the harbor they overtook a strange looking craft containing a single occupant, a young chap who was squatted uncomfortably in a diminutive cockpit surrounded by a veritable tangle of pipes and wires. The boat, a gasoline launch, was about eighteen feet long, very slender and was painted a vivid crimson. On the bow they read, as they drew abreast, the inscription _So Long_. The forward two thirds of the launch was covered by a crown cabin. Between that and the after deck was a four-foot space in which were crowded the engine and the crew. The crew was in his shirt sleeves and was smoking a pipe. The launch was ambling along at about six miles an hour and making a frightful noise about it; the reports from her exhaust pipe were deafening. “Some one ought to make him a present of a muffler,” said Nelson as they drew alongside. The occupant of the _So Long_ glanced up as they approached and studied the _Vagabond_ idly and, as it seemed to Tom, somewhat superciliously. Tom leaned over the corner of the cabin roof. “Hello!” he shouted. “Want to race?” The crew of the little launch puffed at his pipe and looked calmly away, but made no answer. Bob laughed. “He doesn’t know you, Tommy,” he said. “Never’s been introduced.” “Conceited ass!” growled Tom. Then, “Hey there, you in the red tub!” he called. “Do you want a race?” The crew of the _So Long_ turned and viewed Tom silently. And quite as silently, and without a change of expression, he nodded his head indifferently. “Come on then!” cried Tom. The man in the “red tub” removed the pipe from his mouth, knocked the ashes out on the edge of the washboard, dropped it into his pocket, and began leisurely to busy himself with valves and switches. “Turn her on, Nel,” said Tom. “Give her full speed.”