The route was down the river to the sound; from the sound to the bay; and, if the day were very favourable, out into the ocean, and perhaps around Staten Island.
Patty had hoped for this most extended trip today, in order that Ethelyn and Reginald might see a sailing party at its very best.
But after they had been on board an hour they had covered only the few miles of river, and found themselves well out into the sound, but with no seeming prospect of going any farther.

The breeze had died away entirely, and as the sun rose higher the heat was becoming decidedly uncomfortable.
Ethelyn began to fidget.

Her pretty white serge frock had come in contact with some muddy ropes and some oily screws, and several unsightly spots were the result.

This made her cross, for she hated to have her costume spoiled so early in the day; and besides she was unpleasantly conscious that her fair complexion was rapidly taking on a deep shade of red.

She knew this was unbecoming, but when Reginald, with brotherly frankness, informed her that her nose looked like a poppy bud, she lost her temper and relapsed into a sulky fit.
"I don't see any fun in a sailing party, if this is one," she said.
"Oh, this isn't one," said Guy Morris good-humoredly; "this is just a first-class fizzle.