No response from the _Pyxie_, and just as he's startin' to repeat the performance up strolls one of the float tenders and hands him a note which soon has him gaspy and pink in the ears. It's from his fool captain, explainin' how that rich uncle of his in Providence had been taken very bad again and how he had to go on at once. The message is dated last Wednesday. Course, there's nothing for Mr. Robert to do but tell the crowd just how the case stands. "How absurd--just an uncle!" pouts Marjorie. "Now we can't go cruising at all, and--and I have three pairs of perfectly dear deck shoes that I wanted to wear!" "Really!" says Mr. Robert. "Then we'll go anyway; that is, if you'll all agree to ship as a Corinthian crew. What do you say?" And he glances doubtful at Miss Hampton. "I'm sure I don't know what that means," says she; "but I am quite ready to try." "Oh, let's!" says Vee, clappin' her hands. "I can help." "And Ferdie is a splendid sailor," chimes in. Marjorie. "He's crossed a dozen times." "Then we're off," says Mr. Robert. And inside of ten minutes the club launch has landed us, bag and baggage, on the _Pyxie_. She's a roomy, comf'table sort of craft, with a kicker engine stowed under the cockpit. There's a couple of staterooms, plenty of bunks, and a good big cabin. We leaves the ladies to settle themselves below while Mr. Robert inspects things on deck. "Plenty of gasoline, thank goodness!" says he. "And the water butts are full. We can touch at Greenwich for supplies. Now let's get sail on her, boys." And it was rich to see Ferdie, all gussied up in yellow gloves, throwin' his whole one hundred and twenty-three pounds onto a rope. Say, about all the yachtin' Ferdie and me had ever done before was to stand around and look picturesque. But this was the real thing, and it comes mighty near bein' reg'lar work, take it from me. But by the time the girls appeared we had yanked up all the sails that was handy, and the _Pyxie_ was slanted over, just scootin' through the choppy water gay and careless, like she was glad to be tied loose. "Isn't this glorious?" exclaims Miss Hampton, steadying herself on the high side and glancin' admirin' up at the white sails stretched tight as drumheads. I expect that should have been Mr. Robert's cue to shoot off something snappy from Bernard Shaw; but just about then he's busy cuttin' across in front of a big coastin' schooner, and all he remarks is: "Hey, Torchy! Trim in on that main sheet. Trim in, you duffer! Pull! That's it. Now make fast." Nothin' fancy about Mr. Robert's yachtin' outfit. He's costumed in an old pair of wide-bottomed white ducks some splashed with paint, and with his sleeves rolled up and a faded old cap pulled down over his eyes he sure looks like business. I could see Miss Hampton glancin' at him sort of curious.