CHAPTER XIV

A DISMAL PROSPECT Cheerfully chugging along was the _Clytie_. I say cheerfully, for the rhythmical sounds of the exhaust, gentle enough in themselves thanks to a good muffler, were accompanied by snatches of song from one or another of the four girls who variously placed themselves about the craft. Sylvia was at the wheel. Rose lolled on a locker near her, regardless of the sun that was adding a tint of brown to the red in her cheeks. Alice had sought the seclusion of the cabin for a time, to readjust her wind-blow…