“What is it, a hotel?” asked Dick.
“Yes, a big one, too. I’ve heard of it often. It’s where the swells go in summer.”
“That’s the place for me, then,” replied Roy. “I don’t think it’s raining as hard as it was. Let’s go out and have a look.”
Not only had the rain somewhat abated, but there were signs of clearing. Twenty minutes later the Slow Poke was on her way again.
That evening the captain and crew of the Slow Poke “re-entered society,” as Chub put it. They made a landing before six, finding a convenient place a few hundred yards from a big hotel which stood on a bluff almost overhanging the river, and at seven were seated at a table in the great dining-room, fairly reveling in the feast. They had dressed in their best clothes, and made a very presentable appearance.
“This,” observed Chub, as he spread a yard-square napkin over his knees and looked at the menu, “is about what the doctor ordered. Shall we dally with a little of the caviar, Roy, or descend at once upon the cherrystone clams. Let us bear in mind that we have all the evening to do justice to this meal, and not be hasty. The
