Roy explained and told him that they would like very much to have him come and see them. “Of course I’ll come,” answered the artist heartily. “And you come and see me, any time. If I’m at work, why, here’s some books and there’s the ready-made music.” He pointed to the talking-machine. “You can’t disturb me, so come around whenever you like while I’m here. And we’ll have a dinner-party some time, maybe, when I get some provisions in.” They made their adieus, their host accompanying them to land and shaking them each by the hand with a pressure that made them gasp. Jack, too, followed, wagging his tail in friendly farewell, and Beastie stood at the doorway and blinked benevolently. “You needn’t be afraid of Jack the next time,” said Mr. Cole. “He knows you now. Good-by, good-by. Come again. The bear’s den is always open, and if I’m not here make yourselves at home.” He waved one big brown hand in farewell as they passed around the point. [Illustration: Harry] “Isn’t he jolly?” exclaimed Dick when they were out of his hearing. “Bully,” said Dick. “He’s all right,” added Chub. “Nothing stuck-up about him. I knew an artist chap at home once and he was a chump. Always talking about when he studied in Rome. I asked him once if he meant Rome, Georgia, and he got all het up about it.” They went back to camp by way of Point Harriet and Billy Noon’s camping place, but, as usual, Billy wasn’t at home. “If people keep on coming here,” said Roy, “we’ll have a regular village pretty soon. Already the population has increased fifty per cent. That’s pretty near the record, I guess.” “We ought to establish a form of government,” said Chub. “I’ll be mayor.” “You’re too modest,” replied Roy. “You ought to try and fight against it, Chub.” “It’s no use,” Chub sighed. “I was born that way. Lots of folks have spoken about it.” “Well, I don’t care who’s mayor,” said Dick, “if I can be chief of police.” When they got back to camp Dick remarked casually: “This would be a dandy afternoon to do a little painting, wouldn’t it?” “Yes, and it would be a dandy afternoon to do no painting at all,” answered Chub. “Let’s go out in the launch and bum around up and down the river. Let’s go over to Coleville and make faces at Hammond. By the way, I wonder if Mr. Cole comes from Coleville.” Dick finally allowed himself to be persuaded that it would do them more good to take a sail than to paint, and so they all four piled into the _Pup_ and, as Chub put it, went barking around for an hour or more, Harry serenely happy at being allowed to take the wheel and steer, Snip fast asleep in her lap. Harry reverted to the subject of the birthday party that they were to give her and begged them not to forget to invite the Licensed Poet. “We won’t,” said Chub. “And, say, why not ask the Floating Artist, too?” “That’ll be lovely!” cried Harry, laughingly. “A Licensed Poet and a Floating Artist for supper!”