“I’m going to practise serving, Somes! I’ll beat you this Fall!” (This from the curly-haired sub-freshman.)
Chub tooted the whistle frenziedly, there was much waving of caps, and the landing fell away astern.
The Slow Poke made good time that day. They stopped above Poughkeepsie for dinner and in the afternoon went on up against a stiff tide as far as Kingston. It was a day of alternate sun and cloud and the scenery on both sides of the broad stream merited all the attention they gave it. For the most part, when not busy with navigation, they sat under the awning and were beautifully lazy. Just before sunset, they tied up to the bank and prepared supper. Their three days of hotel living had quite restored their appetite for the plainer fare which Dick provided, and they went at their meals with keen appreciation. They went early to bed, for it was the evening of the eighteenth and they were due at Ferry Hill on the twenty-first, and there remained a full forty miles to be covered. There was an early start the next morning, and that day and the next the Slow Poke attended strictly to bus-
