he; "but I am quite ready
to try."

"Oh, let's!" says Vee, clappin' her hands. "I can help."

"And Ferdie is a splendid sailor," chimes in. Marjorie. "He's crossed a
dozen times."

"Then we're off," says Mr. Robert.

And inside of ten minutes the club launch has landed us, bag and
baggage, on the _Pyxie_.

She's a roomy, comf'table sort of craft, with a kicker engine stowed
under the cockpit. There's a couple of staterooms, plenty of bunks, and
a good big cabin. We leaves the ladies to settle themselves below while
Mr. Robert inspects things on deck.

"Plenty of gasoline, thank goodness!" says he. "And the water butts are
full. We can touch at Greenwich for supplies. Now let's get sail on her,
boys."

And it was rich to see Ferdie, all gussied up in yellow gloves, throwin'
his whole one hundred and twenty-three pounds onto a rope. Say, about
all the yachtin' Ferdie and me had ever done before was to stand around
and look picturesque. But this was the real thing, and it comes mighty
near bein' reg'lar work, take it from me.

But by the time the girls appeared we had yanked up all the sails that
was handy, and the _Pyxie_ was slanted over, just scootin' through the
choppy water gay and careless, like she was glad to be tied loose.

"Isn't this glorious?" exclaims Miss Hampton, steadying herself on the
high side and glancin' admirin' up at the white sails stretched tight
as drumheads.

I expect that should have been Mr. Robert's cue to shoot off something
snappy from Bernard Shaw; but just about then he's busy cuttin' across
in front of a big coastin' schooner, and all he remarks is:

"Hey, Torchy! Trim in on that main sheet. Trim in, you duffer! Pull!
That's it. Now make fast."

Nothin' fancy about Mr. Robert's yachtin' outfit. He's costumed in an
old pair of wide-bottomed white ducks some splashed with paint, and with
his sleeves rolled up and a faded old cap pulled down over his eyes he
sure looks like business. I could see Miss Hampton glancin' at him sort
of curious.

But he don't have time to glance back; for we was zigzaggin' up the
Sound, dodgin' steamers and motor-boats and other yachts, and he was
keepin' both eyes peeled. Every now and then too something had to be
done in a hurry.

"Ready about!" he'd call. "Now! Hard alee! Leggo that jib sheet--you,
Ferdie. Slack it off. Now trim in on the other side. Flatter. Oh, haul
it home!"

And I expect Ferdie and me wa'n't any too much help.

"Why,