For the next few minutes Dick took a short course in gas-engine operating and by the time he had asked all the questions he wanted to they were approaching the Ferry Hill landing and a disconsolate figure in the shade of the boat-house. “There’s Harry,” said Chub. “I’ll bet she’s mad!” But she wasn’t; only grieved and reproachful until they told their troubles to her, and after that vastly interested and sympathetic. Harry, having just become a passenger, was by no means ready to end the cruise, demanding that the launch should go up the river for a way. The boys, however, being for the moment firm believers in punctuality as regarded meals, compromised on a voyage around the island. So they went up along the inner channel, swung around Far Island, which, as every experienced mariner knows, lies nor’-nor’-west of Point Harriet, and, navigating skilfully past the dangerous shoals which lie around The Grapes, stopped off Hood’s Hill while Billy Noon returned to the _Minerva_ and, with the aid of a broken oar, reached the beach. The boys were properly grateful for his help, Dick thanking him profusely. “That’s all right,” said Billy, as he pulled the nose of the _Minerva_ onto the beach and carried the painter up to the nearest tree. “Glad I happened along. Any time you want any help you yell for me.” “Thanks,” answered Dick. “And--and come and see us.” “Yes, you must be neighborly,” added Harry. Billy nodded and waved his hand, and Dick, with a bit of a swagger, took up the handle and turned the wheel. The engine answered at once and the launch chugged off toward the lower end of the island. “Isn’t he splendid?” asked Harry admiringly. “Who do you mean?” asked Chub. “Dick?” “No, Mr. Noon, of course.” “Well, he was certainly Johnny-on-the-Spot to-day,” Chub replied. “He ought to be called the Licensed Engineer instead of the Licensed Poet. Say, Roy, do you believe all the yarns he tells?” “About what?” asked Roy, drowning Harry’s indignant ejaculation. “Why, about being a circus clown and playing in the band and being a dentist and running an engine in a pottery and--and all that. What do they want with an engine in a pottery, anyhow?” “Well, I was never in a pottery, but I don’t see why they wouldn’t need an engine. As for the other things, why, you saw those pants of his; and if any one but a clown would wear them I miss my guess, Chub!” “That’s so, but he can’t be more than thirty or so.” “Bet you he’s nearer thirty-five,” said Dick from the wheel. “Anyhow, he must have spent a pretty busy life if he’s been all the things he says he has!” “Papa says he’s the--the--I think he said the ‘smoothest’--book agent he ever met,” said Harry eagerly. “I told him about his being a clown and a poet, and I recited the verses he made up, and papa said they were very good verses for a clown.”