“That’s all right,” answered Dick, “but I’d rather have a Broiled Beefsteak.” “I have an idea,” remarked Chub, “that the Licensed Poet won’t be able to accept.” “Why?” demanded Harry anxiously. “I think he’s going to be busy Thursday night.” “Doing what?” “Well, I don’t know just what,” answered Chub mysteriously, “but something.” And although they tried their best to make him explain he only shook his head and frowned darkly at the passing shore. CHAPTER XVI A MEETING OF FRIENDS It turned off quite cool that evening toward sunset, a stiff breeze blowing up the river, snapping the flag at the top of the pole and sending the smoke from the stove swirling away in sudden gusts. They lighted the camp-fire early and, although the “dining-room” was sometimes invaded by choking gray fumes that made them cough and set their eyes to smarting, the warmth was grateful. Scarcely had the things been cleared up when there came a mighty hail from Inner Beach: “Hello, the camp!” They answered, and the big form of the Floating Artist, as Chub insisted on calling him, arose into sight over the bank, looking bigger than ever against the golden haze of sunset. Jack was with him, trotting demurely at his heels. Of course Snip was thrown into a fit of terrible excitement and had to dance around and bark wildly for the ensuing minute. But at last order was restored in camp, Snip silenced, Mr. Cole installed on an empty box that creaked loudly whenever he moved, and Jack was lying at Harry’s side with his head in her lap. “Well, you’re pretty comfortably settled here,” said Mr. Cole. “And I suppose you’re having a grand time.” “Yes, sir,” answered Roy, “we’ve had a good deal of fun so far.” “Got a launch, too, I see; and a rowboat and a canoe. Quite a navy at your command.” “The launch belongs to Dick,” said Chub. “The canoe is mine and the skiff belongs to the school. The launch is named the _Pup_.” “The _Pup_?” laughed their guest. “How’d you happen to think of that?” Dick explained and the artist was vastly amused. “Well,” he said, “if I followed your method my boat would be called the _Great Silence_, I guess.” “Won’t the engine go yet?” asked Dick solicitously. “Oh, I haven’t tried it since morning. I don’t like to hurry it. I think, though, that I’ll stay here a day or so. I’ve found some nice bits that I’d like to try my hand at.” “Do you paint landscapes?” asked Harry. “Mostly, yes; figures now and then. Landscape is my line, but I’d rather do figures; I guess it’s human nature to always want to do something you can’t. And that reminds me,” he turned to Harry, “you look like an amiable young lady. Suppose, now, you should sit for me a little while to-morrow. What do you say? It won’t be difficult, you know. Just sit kind of still for--hem--an hour. I’d be awfully much obliged, really.” “Sit for you?” stammered Harry. “Do you mean that you want to _paint_ me!” “Exactly. Sounds a bit alarming, does it?”