“Good-by!” called the freight-handler. They waved to him as the boat’s bow turned up-stream. “_Puff, puff, puff!_” went the engine. “_Chug, chug, chug!_” went the exhaust at the side. “Doesn’t she go great?” cried Dick turning to the others. “Fine,” answered Roy with proper enthusiasm. “When you understand her,” remarked Chub haughtily. “Get out,” said Roy. “No wonder she started after the way we’d worked with her!” Chub looked grieved. “Of all the unappreciative guys I ever knew,” he said sadly, “you’re the worst! Dick doesn’t talk that way. Dick realizes that if it hadn’t been for me you’d be at the wharf yet. Dick is decently grateful and--” “What the dickens did you do any more than we did?” demanded Dick. “You turned the wheel and she just happened to start.” “Happened!” murmured Chub, smiling pityingly. “Very well, think that way if you want to. It doesn’t hurt me. Ingratitude only shows--” “Look out!” yelled Roy. Dick worked quickly and narrowly avoided running down a rowboat containing two men. As they went by they were forced to listen to a number of uncomplimentary remarks. But Dick didn’t mind. The launch was running, and that’s all he cared about. To be sure, she wasn’t making very great speed, but Dick explained that by assuring Roy and Chub that she hadn’t got warmed up yet. “Well, you can’t say that of me,” answered Roy with a laugh. “I’m warm enough, all right.” “I’ll bet I could paddle faster than this,” said Chub. “I’ll bet you couldn’t,” answered Dick indignantly. “She’s going a good six miles an hour.” “If you don’t mind what you say,” supplemented Chub with an exasperating grin. “It is too! I’ll bet you anything you like!” “Six miles an hour?” “Six miles, an hour!” “Oh, say, Dick, be good! Don’t talk so fancy! You know well enough that if an able-bodied mud-scow came along it would make this boat look as if it were standing still.” “You don’t dare to bet on it, though,” taunted Dick. “But there’s no way to prove it,” said Chub, “unless we use Roy for a log and tow him astern.” “I’ll prove it all right,” Dick persisted. “We’ll start at the big bridge and go up the river to Slicer’s Landing; that’s six miles and a quarter, and if we don’t do it in an hour I’ll--I’ll lose my bet.” “Oh, that’s all right,” answered Chub affably, “but what I’m saying is that she isn’t making any six miles an hour now. I don’t know what she might do to-morrow. Why, you might grease her hull, or get Roy to swim under water and tow her. Besides, I wouldn’t bet with a Westerner, anyway; he’s too tricky.” “You always try to turn everything into a joke,” Dick growled. “When you say we’re not making six miles you don’t know what you’re talking about. Does he, Roy?” “Don’t ask me,” said Roy. “I don’t know anything about it. I would like to suggest, however, that you turn the boat a bit so as to avoid running into that point. Thank you, Dickums; I feel more comfortable.”