The extraordinary appearance of Nat Wingate was, of course, observed by Mr. Somers, but the gentleman did not have his curiosity immediately gratified. He was surrounded by the members of the Rambler Club, and the hearty² expressions, appreciative³ of his kindness, which poured from the boys' lips must have been very gratifying.  
He explained that the mysterious letter had been written by his chief clerk, and further told them that for a long time he had contemplated⁴ the purchase of a motor boat.
 
"I thought, boys," he added, "that it might be well to hasten its acquirement, in order to afford you the opportunity for a safe and pleasant trip. And I am sure you will consent to allow me the occasional use of it."
 
Bob's answer was to seize his father's hand and wring⁵ it heartily⁶.
 
Mr. Somers deplored⁷ the unfortunate result of Nat Wingate's hasty temper, and laughed when the boys told him about his threat to form a rival organization for the purpose of following and annoying them.
 
"I hardly think that his uncle would humor him to the extent of supplying a motor boat," he remarked, dryly. "It is scarcely worth while to pay any attention to his foolish language. And now let us take the 'Rambler' on a little trial trip."
 
"Hurrah⁸! Come on, boys," shouted Bob. It is certain that each boy felt a thrill of delight when he stepped on board.
 
The "Rambler" was about twenty-five feet long, rather wide of beam, built more for safety and convenience than speed. It was covered for more than half its length, and provision made for drawing down awnings⁹ at the sides. In the forward part was a cuddy sufficiently¹⁰ large to accommodate whatever supplies might be needed for the trip, while beneath the shelter were several seats, which also served as lockers¹¹. The wheel was situated¹² immediately back of the cuddy, from which point an unobstructed view was to be had. Conveniently near to it stood the motor. Few working parts were visible, pistons¹³, crank shaft¹⁴ and other details of the mechanism¹⁵ being enclosed within the castings. Two vertical¹⁶ cylinders¹⁷ and a small, but heavy fly-wheel were the most prominent features.
 
It seemed hard for the boys to realize that such a small, compact apparatus¹⁸ could drive the boat at any speed.
 
Mr. Somers, however, assured them that it was of many horse-power.
 
"Of course," he said, "this is a gasoline motor. You all know that gasoline is highly inflammable, and consequently dangerous to handle. Its vapor¹⁹ mixed with air is explosive, so you must understand the necessity for extreme care in its use."
 
Continuing, Mr. Somers delivered a short lecture, which was eagerly listened to. He told the boys how the power was derived²⁰ from the explosions of gasoline vapor mixed with air, the charges being fired by an electric spark. Their attention was drawn²¹ to the valves controlling the supply of gasoline, the batteries and connecting wires.
 
Continuing, Mr. Somers said: "An engine of this kind has no power to start itself. It is necessary that the fly-wheel should be given several turns. This forces the explosive mixture into the upper part of the cylinders and ignites it, which starts the engine. Here, Bob, is a book of instructions."
 
"Can't we start right away?" asked his son, eagerly.
 
"Certainly!—Tom, cast off the lines. Dave, your arms look pretty strong; give the wheel a couple of turns."
 
"All right, sir!" responded Brandon, as the two proceeded to carry out directions.
 
A sharp detonation²² came from the motor, followed by a steady and rapid succession.
 
The effect was immediate¹. With a gentle, rocking motion, the "Rambler" began to glide²³ forward, while the water at its stern was churned into foam²⁴ and the ripples²⁵ lapped against its sides.
 
"Hurrah!" cried Bob, enthusiastically. "This is what I call great!"
 
"Nothing could be finer," chimed in Dick. "See how far we have come already."
 
When the boys looked around, they were surprised to see what a distance separated them from the wharf²⁶.
 
Bob, at the wheel, managed it skilfully²⁷. The "Rambler" described a wide curve and was headed down-stream.
 
Close at hand rose the dark, wooded slope of Fir Island, a low, rounded hill that divided the stream into two channels. They watched its form becoming clear and distinct, and compared the trip with others that were made in the "Lively."
 
To say that the performance of the "Rambler" was up to expectations is expressing it very mildly. The island 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 smoothly²⁸, eh, Chubby²⁹? No trouble at all to run it."
 
"You are pleased, then, boys?" queried³⁰ 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 maker³¹."
 
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" glided³² smoothly over the rippling³³ 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 five boys were thoroughly³⁴ delighted, and he was almost sorry to give the order to turn back.
 
"I am not able to spare any more time from business," he said. "You may come out again to-morrow."
 
"And when shall we start on our trip, father?" asked Bob, anxiously, while the rest of the Ramblers listened in expectant silence.
 
"Well, let me see—to-day is Tuesday; I think that the first of next week would be soon enough. By that time, you should be so well acquainted with the boat that I need have no fears regarding your safety."
 
Notwithstanding the impatience³⁶ of his hearers, they could only accede³⁷ to this reasonable demand with good grace.
 
Landing at the little wharf was not accomplished³⁸ as easily as Bob hoped, but Sam Randall stood by with the fenders, while Tom and Dick secured the lines.
 
Even when Mr. Somers took his departure, the Ramblers could not tear themselves away from the boat.
 
"And just think, we were going in the 'Lively,'" observed Dick Travers, in a tone of deep disgust.
 
"Don't you dare to slander³⁹ that grand old hulk," laughed Dave. "I've written two poems about her already."
 
"When we are on this trip, you'll have to write poems, and read them, too," exclaimed Sam, "otherwise you shall be deposed⁴⁰ from position of poet laureate and made to cook."
 
"In that event, the journey would come to a disastrous⁴² end," returned Dave, smilingly; "doctors are few and far between in the region where we are going."
 
Meanwhile, as they enjoyed themselves in conversation and planning, the time slipped rapidly away. It was now fast approaching one o'clock, so they took a final glance at the "Rambler," and began their journey homeward.
 
None of the five caught a sight of Nat Wingate that day. But it fell to the lot of Dave Brandon to encounter him early on the following morning. While on his way to meet the other members of the club, he found Nat reclining on the big boulder⁴³, which had become a sort of favorite haunt with him. He was engaged in earnest conversation with a chum named John Hackett.
 
To Dave Brandon's intense surprise, Nat greeted him without any show of ill feeling.
 
"Oh ho, Davy!" he exclaimed, with a peculiar⁴⁴ glance at his companion. "Oh ho! So you are really going on that little trip to the wilds?"
 
"Certainly," responded Brandon.
 
"They'll have a great time, eh, John? Awful prospect⁴⁵ ahead for the birds and beasts of the forest."
 
"Wish I could go, too," drawled John. "Not taking in any new members, are you?"
 
"No! It's an exclusive organization—only the élite admitted," laughed Nat. "And such luck, too, to have a beautiful little boat just thrown at them, eh?"
 
"Wonder if any other fellows around here could ever have a piece of good luck like it," grumbled⁴⁶ John. "I say, those motor boats must be great—no sails to bother with, or oars⁴⁷ to pull."
 
"That will just suit Dave," commented Nat. "Guess you'll lie on your back and read poetry all day?"
 
"Very likely," smiled Dave; "and perhaps write some, too."
 
"Worse and worse. Hope no one will be compelled to read it." Nat gave a comical grimace⁴⁸, while John Hackett burst into a loud laugh.
 
When Dave took his departure, he could not help wondering at Nat's cheerful demeanor⁴⁹, and mentally concluded that he must possess a much better disposition⁵⁰ than the Ramblers had given him credit for.
 
On meeting his friends at their appointed rendezvous⁵¹, he was surprised to find among them the dignified⁵² Professor Hopkins, glancing over the rims⁵³ of his spectacles in his usual awe-inspiring manner.
 
"Well, David," he said, "you have kept us waiting just a fraction over five minutes." Then he added: "Mr. Somers kindly⁵⁴ asked me to take a trip on the motor boat. That accounts for my presence here."
 
Professor Hopkins was principal of the Kingswood High School, and might be described as a typical pedagogue⁵⁵, having a very stately bearing and a scholarly manner.
 
He expressed his admiration⁵⁶ for the "Rambler," which appeared to the boys handsomer than ever, but seemed rather fearful of venturing on board.
 
"Are you quite sure that it is safe, Robert?" he asked, nervously⁵⁷. "You know I can't swim. Be careful, it's tipping over."
 
With much assistance, the professor was finally led safely on board, and a trip up the river began.
 
Bob found no difficulty whatever in handling the engine, and the ten mile trip passed without incident.
 
Professor Hopkins took occasion to talk to them about their proposed long journey.
 
"Remember," he said, "that each boy cannot invariably have his own way. In matters where differences of opinion arise, there should be no disputes, but the quietest and most thoughtful judgment⁵⁸ exercised. You must meet each other half way, and be prepared to follow the guidance of your recognized leader."
 
These words were spoken as the boat was being headed in shore on the return trip, and the speaker almost immediately afterward⁶⁰ declared that they must be extremely careful in regard to their dealings with strangers. "Treat all people pleasantly," he said; "avoid rough-looking characters, and say little about your plans to any one."
 
The boys listened attentively⁶¹, in spite of the professor's solemn manner and the fact that they felt perfectly⁶² able to take care of themselves.
 
"Who is that standing³⁵ on the wharf?" spoke⁵⁹ up Sam, at length, as he shaded his eyes to get a clearer view. "Looks like Mr. Wingate."
 
"So it does," affirmed Tom Clifton, in surprise. "I don't believe I ever saw him down here before."
 
"Nat has evidently told him about the 'Rambler,' and he wants to find out if it is really true," suggested Dave. "Strange that he should have so much curiosity."
 
"Your boat is already becoming quite famous," observed Professor Hopkins. "Doubtless Mr. Wingate and his nephew would appreciate a little trip on board of her as much as I have."
 
"Very likely," answered Bob, with some hesitation⁶³; "and I think, if it is Mr. Wingate, that he has been favoring us with an inspection⁶⁴ through a field-glass."
 
The object of their attention did not linger on the wharf. Before they could make sure of his identity, he began to walk rapidly away, and was almost immediately lost to view in the woods.
 
The thought of stepping ashore⁶⁵ upon a wharf that was much too high for convenience caused Professor Hopkins quite a good deal of apprehension⁶⁶, and the excellent teacher did not breathe freely until he stood once more on solid ground.
 
"It's certain that you fellers ain't no sailors," exclaimed a hoarse⁶⁷ voice close by, and Zeke Tipson came lazily forward.
 
"Sir! Did you address me?" asked the startled professor, glancing in surprise at the uncouth⁶⁸ figure before him.
 
"That's just what I done; and I says again, if your ears ain't good, and things has to be said twice, which is sometimes the case,—that you ain't no sailor."
 
"Why, sir, I may say—er—that your observation seems to me uncalled for," said Professor Hopkins.
 
"When I sees a thing, and knows a thing, I says it right out in meeting. This here country guarantees the right of free speech, and I'm inclined to like it. I don't know who you be, but I says, for a third time, you ain't no sailor."
 
"Who is this—this gentleman?" inquired the professor.
 
"A man what's just as good as the next one, even if he can't wear no fancy trimmin's. Do you know what I says to the pop, or uncle, of that there little spindle legs that went in bathing yesterday? I says—"
 
But Professor Hopkins, with his head held erect⁶⁹, passed on, the boys trooping at his heels, leaving the "Major" to gaze after them in a state of profound indignation.
 
"It was Mr. Wingate, as we thought," whispered Sam to Dave Brandon. "Perhaps he came over to complain about that little incident which proved so disastrous to Nat."
 
This seemed to be the general opinion among the boys, but Bob Somers, whose curiosity had been thoroughly aroused, felt an irresistible⁷⁰ temptation to remain in the vicinity, and, after excusing himself, left the party.
 
He cautiously made his way back through the woods to a thick clump⁷¹ of bushes by the edge of the clearing, where, completely hidden from view, he was enabled to keep an eye on the "Rambler" and its surroundings.
 
Five minutes elapsed, when a tall figure came into sight and walked with an elastic⁷² step to the wharf.
 
"Good gracious, I'm glad I returned—there is Mr. Wingate now," muttered Bob, in some excitement. "He just waited long enough for us to get safely out of the way. What in the world is he doing?"
 
The slim form of Nat's uncle could presently be seen, with note-book in hand, leaning over and apparently⁷³ examining the motor boat in a most earnest manner.
 
For a moment, a wild suspicion entered Bob's head that some trickery was being planned, but he instantly dismissed it as unworthy of consideration. Whatever Mr. Wingate might be in his business actions, it could scarcely be possible that he would be led by a piece of boyish misunderstanding to help his nephew in any underhanded work.
 
The proceeding⁷⁴, however, was highly mysterious, and Bob, screening himself by the trees and bushes, watched his every move with the greatest curiosity.
 
Mr. Wingate made frequent entries in his note-book, now and then turning and glancing in all directions, as if fearful that his actions might be observed.
 
Finally his mission seemed to be accomplished. He slipped the book in his pocket and began walking rapidly in the direction of the lonely watcher.
 
Bob gave vent⁴¹ to a slight exclamation⁷⁵, threw himself behind a mass of underbrush and anxiously awaited the other's approach. Fortunately for the lad's peace of mind, Mr. Parsons Wingate passed quickly by, totally unaware⁷⁶ of his presence.
 
"Whew! a mighty⁷⁷ close shave," soliloquized Bob, scrambling⁷⁸ to his feet when he felt that the course was clear. "I'll wager⁷⁹ it was something more than curiosity that brought him here, though I'd like to know why he fears being seen."
 
Of course, all conjecture⁸⁰ on the subject was useless. At the first opportunity, Bob told his fellow members about the incident and various explanations were offered.
 
But Mr. Wingate, and, indeed, almost everything else was lost sight of in the whirl of preparation for departure.
 
The "Rambler" had yet to be stored with the necessities for the voyage, and lists were gone over very carefully to see that nothing was omitted. As it was their desire to camp out on shore whenever practicable, two tents were included in the outfit⁸¹.
 
When lockers and all available spaces were stored to their utmost capacity, Dick Travers and Tom Clifton proposed that they should sleep on board the "Rambler."
 
"It won't do to take any risks," they argued, and to this all agreed.
 
Though time seemed to move so slowly for the eager boys, Monday morning at length arrived. The sun had scarcely risen over the eastern hills, sweeping⁸² away the mists in the valleys, and awakening⁸³ with its cheerful beams the life of the woods and fields, when five Kingswood boys, from whose faces all signs of sleepiness had been chased away by eager anticipation⁸⁴, were swallowing breakfasts as hastily as possible in their respective homes.
 
Good-byes were said; then, like the boys of '76, they "shouldered their guns and marched away."