The flat-boat that was moored down at Galpin's "dock"--four railroad
ties roped together--was none too substantial looking, having been
built by Galpin himself from odds and ends picked up from scrap
heaps and driftage. As Galpin himself said, the only whole part
about the boat was the name, which had been painted in red on a
single thin board sticking a full two feet past the stern--
"UPANATUM."

But the boys did not waste a great deal of time in admiring the
beautiful lines of their borrowed craft. Jerry made at once for the
oar seat, leaving Dave to untie and push off. For all the tremendous
leak which at once developed, the boat responded easily to the
strenuous tugs of Jerry's muscular arms and back.

They beached the boat and made their way up the bank and across a
field where oats had just been cut, the bundles lying yellow as gold
in the early morning sunlight. Just beyond was a narrow, plum-
thicket bordered lane, which in turn led into the newly graveled
"county" road. The boys found the walking much easier in a path that
twisted along next to the fence. However, within a mile, along came
a farmer, hauling a load of early potatoes to town, and the boys
gladly accepted his invitation to "hop on."

Within a quarter of a mile both were sound asleep, nor did they
waken until the springless wagon rattled over the interurban tracks
less than two blocks from Dave's home. Rubbing their eyes in a vain
attempt to drive out the sleep, they stumbled along the quiet
street.

"Where will I find you after breakfast?" asked Jerry, as Dave turned