"And you've nothing to do on the entire trip but have fun, eh?" asked the stout lad.
"Well, mostly; though, as I've told you, I expect to look up some of my mother's distant relatives in Cuba. But that may not take long, and then we'll go off on an exploring expedition, and live on a desert island for a change."
"Fine and dandy!" exclaimed Beeby, enthusiastically.
The rest of the day was spent in sitting about deck, the boys telling stories, or swapping school experiences, while occasionally Widdy would come aft on some errand, and Dick would detain him long enough to have him tell some sea yarn, more or less true.
Grit and Gritty gamboled about together, playing like two puppies, for Grit, usually grave and dignified, as suited a blooded bulldog, seemed to renew his youth in the presence of the little waif from the sea.
There was an indication of a storm that night, and Captain Barton, looking anxiously at the barometer, ordered everything made snug below and aloft. The wind freshened about midnight, and when the boys awoke early in the morning they found the yacht pitching and tossing in an angry sea.
"Whew!" exclaimed Beeby, as he just avoided being tossed out of his berth, "rather rough, isn't it, Dick?"
