“My whale is in commission,” said Jonah, with dignity.  “But Baron Munchausen need not consider the question of taking a state-room aboard of her.  She doesn’t carry second-class passengers.  And if I took any stock in the idea of a trip on the Flying Dutchman amounting to a seven years’ exile, I would cheerfully pay the Baron’s expenses for a round trip.”

“We are losing time, gentlemen,” suggested Sherlock Holmes.  “This is a moment, I think, when you should lay aside personal differences and personal preferences for immediate action.  I have examined the wake of the House-boat, and I judge from the condition of what, for want of a better term, I may call the suds, when she left us the House-boat was making ten knots a day.  Almost any craft we can find suitably manned ought to be able to do better than that; and if you could summon Charon and ascertain what boats he has at hand, it would be for the good of all concerned.”

“That’s a good plan,” said Johnson.  “Boswell, see if you can find Charon.”

“I am here already, sir,” returned the ferryman, rising.  “Most of my boats have gone into winter quarters, your Honor.  The Mayflower went into dry dock last week to be calked up; the Pinta and the Santa Maria are slow and cranky; the Monitor and the Merrimac I haven’t really had time to patch up; and the Valkyrie is two months overdue.  I cannot make up my mind whether she is lost or kept back by excursion steamers.  Hence I really don’t know what I can lend you.  Any of these boats I have named you could have had for nothing; but my others are actively employed, and I couldn’t let them go without a serious interference with my business.”

The old man blinked sorrowfully across the waters at the opposite shore.  It was quite evident that he realized what a dreadful expense the club was about to be put to, and while of course there would be profit in it for him, he was sincerely sorry for them.

“I repeat,” he added, “those boats you could have had for nothing, but the others I’d have to charge you for, though of course I’ll give you a discount.”

And he blinked again, as he meditated upon whether that discount should be an eighth or one-quarter of one per cent.

“The Flying Dutchman,” he pursued, “ain’t no good for your purposes.  She’s too fast.  She’s built to fly by, not to stop.  You’d catch up with the House-boat in a minute with her, but you’d go right on and disappear like a visionary; and as for the Ark, she’d never do—­with all respect to Mr. Noah.  She’s just about as suitable as any other waterlogged cattle-steamer’d be, and no more—­first-rate for elephants and kangaroos, but no good for cruiser-work, and so slow she wouldn’t make a ripple high enough to drown a gnat going at the top of her speed.  Furthermore, she’s got a great big hole in her bottom, where she was stove in by running afoul of—­Mount Arrus-root, I believe it was called when Captain Noah went cruising with that menagerie of his.”