They were a nice-looking,
upstanding lot, already well sunburned by a week afloat. Wink Wheeler
was the oldest of the six, for he was eighteen. Harry Corwin, Bert Alley
and Caspar Temple were seventeen and George Browne, or "Brownie," as he
was called, and Tom Corwin were sixteen. First of all they had to see
the boat and so the whole gathering trooped from one end to the other,
exclaiming and admiring.
"The _Follow Me_'s a regular tub compared with this palace," said Harry
Corwin. "Why, there isn't anything finer than this along the South
Shore, I guess!"
"Don't you call our boat names," protested "Brownie." "The _Follow Me_
may not be as nifty as this, but she's one fine little boat, just the
same. How long did it take you to come from New York, Joe?"
"Nearly four hours and a half, but we ran slow. I guess we could have
done it in three hours easily if we'd tried to. This boat can do twenty
at a pinch. How fast is the _Follow Me?_"
"She's done eighteen," answered Harry Corwin, "but fourteen's her
average gait. She burns up gas like the dickens when she does any more.
Yesterday we went to Freeport in fifty-seven minutes, and that's a good
seventeen and a half miles. She had to hump herself, though.
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