There was no longer any talk of being too warm, for the breeze was straight from the southeast and soon sent them, one after another, into the cabins for their sweaters.  They passed Rockaway Beach a good three miles to port and by half-past one were off Point Lookout.  Every instant held interest, for many pleasure boats were out and their white sails gleamed in the crisp sunlight.  Three porpoise appeared off Short Beach and proved very companionable, for they stayed with the Adventurer for quite ten minutes.  One placed himself directly in front of the boat and the others took up positions about six feet apart on the starboard bow, and for two miles or more they maintained their stations, their dusky, gleaming backs arching from the water with the regularity of clock-work.  Most of the boys had never seen the fish before and were much interested.  Joe called them “puffing pigs” and Perry insisted that they were dolphins, and a fervid argument followed.  They finally agreed, at Phil’s suggestion, to compromise and call them “porphins.”  Possibly the discussion bored the subjects, or maybe they were insulted by the title applied to them, for about the time Joe and Perry reached an agreement the porpoise disappeared as suddenly as they had arrived on the scene and it was minutes later before the puzzled mariners descried them heading shoreward some distance away.

They missed Ossie after that and when he was found he was stretched out on a seat in the main cabin sound asleep and snoring.  Neil came back with the news that one of the “puffing pigs” had flopped aboard and was asleep below.  Steve took advantage of plain sailing to instruct Joe, Phil and Perry in the handling of the wheel and controls, and each of the pupils took his turn at guiding the cruiser along the sandy coast.  Fire Island Inlet was reached shortly before three and Steve took the wheel again and ran the Adventurer past Jack’s Island, around the curve of Short Beach and into the waters of the Great South Bay.  There was still a six-mile run to their anchorage, however, and it was nearly four when the cruiser at last crept in among the clustered craft off Bay Shore and dropped her anchor.  A hundred yards away a cluster of boys on the deck of a sturdy cabin-cruiser swung their caps and sent a hail across.  Steve seized the megaphone from its rack and answered.

“Follow Me, ahoy!” he shouted.

“Ahoy yourself!” was the ribald reply.  “We’re coming over!”

The crew of the Follow Me tumbled into a tiny dingey, cast off and were lost to sight beyond the intervening craft.  Then they reappeared, their small boat so deep that the water almost spilled over the sides, Wink Wheeler struggling with a pair of ludicrously short oars and the other five laughingly urging him on.

“Throw a couple of fenders over, Han,” instructed Steve, “and stand by with your boat-hook.”