Then Westy began asking what we were going to do about power after we got our stanchions and bumper-sticks and all that fixed. I said we’d have to get Jake Holden to tow us down around into the Hudson and then get somebody to tow us up. Westy said Mr. Ellsworth thought it would be cheaper to take our little three horsepower engine out of our launch and install it in the houseboat. I said, “That would be all right, only it would kick us along so slow that we’d spend all our vacation on the trip and wouldn’t have any time at camp.” Cracky, I didn’t want to start back as soon as we got there. “Well, then, there’s only one thing to do,” Westy said, “and that’s for us to get towed and that costs a lot of money.” All the while the whistling kept up and it was awful loud and shrill, sort of, as if it was mad—you know how I mean. “I know what it is,” I said; “it’s somebody waiting for the bridge to be opened.” “Good night, they stand a tall chance,” Westy said. “It’s a tug, that’s what it is,” Pee-wee said; “I can see the smoke. It’s going up in a big column.” “It’s more than a column, its a whole volume,” Westy said, looking around. “There must be books on that boat; the smoke is coming out in volumes.” All the while we were getting nearer to the bridge and it was easier rowing, because the tide was on the turn. Now maybe if you fellows that read this don’t live in the country where there’s a river, you won’t understand about tides and bridges and all that. So I’ll tell you how it is, because, gee, we’re used to all that, us fellows. Jimmy Van Dorian, he lives right near the bridge in a little shanty and he’s lame and he’s a bridge tender. You don’t get much for being a bridge tender and mostly old veterans are bridge tenders. Anyway, they don’t get much out our way, because big boats don’t come up and they don’t have to open the bridge often. When we got down to the bridge we saw that the tide was right up so we even had to duck our heads to get under, and right on the other side of the bridge was a tugboat standing facing upstream and its whistle was screeching and screeching just like a dog stands and barks when he’s mad. It seemed awful funny because it was a small tug and it made so much noise. “It ought to be named the Pee-wee,” Westy said. “Nobody’s paying much attention to it,” I told him. Just as we came under the bridge we could see a big fat man, oh, Christopher, wasn’t he fat, standing up in the pilot house pulling and pulling the whistle rope, for the bridge to open. Sometimes he’d pull it very fast, just like you do with the receiver on the telephone when you’re good and mad because Central don’t answer. And it was pretty near as bad as the telephone, too, because he went on tooting and tooting and tooting and nobody paid any attention to him. CHAPTER XXIX JIMMY, THE BRIDGE-TENDER