“Oh, that’s beautiful, Chub!” cried Harry. Chub faltered. “Er--er--and so I thank you, ladies and gentlemen, from the bottom of my heart for the honor which you have seen fit to confer upon me. I thank you, I thank you.” Chub bowed to three points of the compass and the launch rocked uncomfortably. “And now, ladies and gentlemen, according to time-honored precedent, a bottle of--er--of gasolene will be broken over the bow and the boat will be named. I take pleasure in introducing to you Miss Harriet Emery.” Harry climbed unsteadily to her feet in the rowboat and bowed to the applause. Then she raised the bottle of gasolene and brought it down smartly against the bow of the boat. “I name you _Pup_,” she cried. There was a tinkling of glass, a series of shrill barks from Chub and the ceremony was at an end. CHAPTER XII CHUB SCENTS A MYSTERY After the dinner things had been cleared up there was naturally but one thing to do, and that was to go out in the _Pup_. So they did it. The engine showed some unwillingness to start, but relented presently and they were off. They had no boats in tow this time and were, besides, going with the current, and the way the _Pup_ slid along brought joy to Dick’s heart. “Isn’t she a great little _Pup_?” he asked, beamingly. And they all agreed that she was, even Chub. “The _Pup_,” observed the latter impressively, “is a fine bark.” They had an exciting time in the village while Dick made his purchases and ordered his flags. Chub was full of suggestions and wanted Dick to buy all sorts of things, from a pocket compass to a pair of davits by which to sling the canoe on to the launch and use it for a tender. Dick got a gallon of white paint, warranted to dry hard in twelve hours, and four brushes, Harry having expressed a determination to aid in the work of turning the black _Pup_ into a white one. When they were ready to leave the wharf Dick produced his small oil-can filled with gasolene and set it beside him while he prepared to turn the fly-wheel over. Whether it was the sight of that can I can’t say, but it’s a fact that the engine started at the first turn. They ran up the river in the late afternoon sunlight, a little wind which had risen since noon kicking the water into tiny white-caps which caught the rays and turned to gold and copper. The breeze rumpled their hair and tingled their cheeks, and to what Chub called “the merry barking of the _Pup_” they sailed home past the shadowed shore and dropped anchor (it was a folding one and weighed seven pounds) in Victory Cove.