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“Right after breakfast,” answered Chub. “You come up at about ten o’clock—”

“What’s the matter with you fellows coming to the hotel and having breakfast with me?” asked Dick.

“All right, then, luncheon. I’ll be around at ten in the morning. See if you can at least get him up by that time, Roy.”

“With a glance of scathing contempt,” murmured Chub, “our hero turned upon his heel and strode rapidly away into the fast-gathering darkness.”

But where he really strode was down the stairs, with one arm over Dick’s shoulder, while Roy brought up the rear and gently prodded them with the toe of his shoe.

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The preceding summer, while camping out on Fox Island—or Harry’s Island, as they called it now—the boys had made the acquaintance of the Floating Artist. He had appeared one day in his house-boat, the Jolly Roger, in which he was cruising down the Hudson, sketching as he went. His real name was Forbes Cole, a name of much importance in the art world, as the boys discovered later on. He had proved an agreeable acquaintance, and when camp had been broken the three boys, together with Harry Emery, the daughter of the school principal, had voyaged with him as far as New York.