boat made slow progress, and Chub was inclined to be impatient.
“We’ll never get to Ferry Hill this side of Christmas!” he declared. “I vote we name her over, and call her the Slow Poke.”
Dick and Roy applauded instantly. Chub was at the wheel and the others were standing behind him at the open door of the wheel-house, ready with suggestions and assistance, Dick having been dragged away from the engine almost by main force.
“Fine!” said Dick. “Only she’s got Jolly Roger painted on her bow.”
“That’s all right,” said Chub. “Mr. Cole said we could do anything we liked with her. When we get to a town we’ll buy some paint and rename her.”
“It’s a good name,” laughed Roy. “I wonder Mr. Cole never thought of it himself.”
“Maybe he did; she’s had all sorts of names; he said so. Now what’s that little sail-boat trying to do? If she doesn’t look out she’ll get run over.” Chub blew the whistle warningly.
“We’ve got to get out of her way,” said Dick.
