They passed the Isles of Shoals before nine and in the middle of the forenoon Steve pointed through the haze to where an indistinct blot against the sky line proclaimed Boon Island.  After that the cruisers kept well toward shore, for, although the drizzle had stopped, the navigators feared that a fog might take its place, and that one experience in Vineyard Sound had been sufficient to last them for the balance of the cruise.  Off Cape Porpoise the boats found rough seas and the crew of the Follow Me were secretly delighted to observe that the smaller craft made much easier going.  The Adventurer seemed to be having a thoroughly good time, for she kicked up her heels and waved her nose and fairly rolled in merriment as the seas came sliding under her quarter.  The bridge deck was a damp place until both side curtains were lowered and laced to the rails and stanchions.  Poor Joe stood it as long as he could, getting paler and paler and sitting, hands in pockets, gazing fixedly at the brass kickplate at the top of the forward companion way, about the only thing in his range of vision that was fairly steady, and at intervals lurching below with an assumption of carelessness that deceived nobody, to dose himself with his sea-sickness remedy.  That remedy, however, failed him, and it was not very long before the Chief Engineer was conspicuous on the bridge by his absence, while those who listened could hear at intervals a low moaning sound proceeding from the after cabin.  But Joe was not the only one aboard the Adventurer who suffered qualms of uneasiness, although he alone gave up the struggle.  Both Perry and Han showed pale countenances and looked big-eyed and pathetic.  Neither displayed the least interest in dinner, while Joe, when cruelly summoned by Ossie, only groaned lugubriously and turned his pallid face to the wall.  At two o’clock the sun broke through and dyed the sea a wonderful green, and the Adventurer began to meet other boats.  As she left Scarboro Beach on her port beam and began to nose in toward Peak’s Island the sea calmed and by the time the cruiser was ready to drop her anchor in Portland harbour, Joe, albeit still rather greenish, had pulled himself back to deck to gaze approvingly at the shore.

A week went by during which the Adventure Club, one and all, had a glorious time without anything that in the least resembled adventure.  They spent a whole day in Portland—­spent, also, a deal of money there replenishing an utterly exhausted galley—­and then, to use Perry’s inelegant phrase, “bummed around” Casco Bay for three days more.  Joe fell in love with more islands during that time than he had known existed.  “I’ve always wanted to own an island,” he would explain, “and that’s the very island.  Let’s go ashore, Steve, and look around.”