was reached and passed in an astonishingly short space of time.

"A daisy trip ahead of us, that's sure," cried Bob. "Doesn't it skim along smoothly, eh, Chubby? No trouble at all to run it."

"You are pleased, then, boys?" queried Mr. Somers, with a smile.

"No words for it," drawled Dave.

"You must, as the poet laureate, include the 'Rambler' in one of your verses."

Dave smiled.

"Very likely I will," he said.

"Just see what a distance we've come already!" exclaimed Dick Travers.

"Never thought motor-boating was as fine as this," put in Tom Clifton. "Can't blame Nat Wingate for wanting to join the club. Maybe he isn't sore, fellows," and Tom laughed at the recollection.

"Pretty bad day for Nat," remarked Dick. "He'll get square with old Zeke Tipson."

"And with us, too, if he gets a chance," said Bob.

"I am just as well pleased that young Wingate is not going with you," declared Mr. Somers. "He seems to be a trouble maker."

The cheerful chug-chug of the engine was music to their ears, and Bob, at the wheel, could scarcely contain his delight, as the "Rambler" glided smoothly over the rippling surface of the river. Mr. Somers, too, seemed to enjoy the experience, and continued to give them bits of helpful advice.

The stream at this point was about a quarter of a mile wide, and they were afforded a series of ever-changing views. Wooded hills rose on either side, bathed in the white, sparkling light of an early summer morning, but the monotony was relieved by ravines, fields and areas of deep shadow. There were a few sailing craft about, while, upon the opposite shore, several clumsy canal-boats were slowly making their way up the river.

In a little over half an hour, the "Rambler" had traversed four miles.

"Well, boys, what do you think of it?" inquired Mr. Somers.

The chorus of enthusiastic replies more than convinced the gentleman that the 

 Prev. P 26/167 next