Motor Boat Boys on the Great Lakes; or, Exploring the Mystic Isle of Mackinac. Louis Arundel
was very deep. And it was with his heart in his mouth, so to speak, that Jack dashed his hand across his eyes to clear his vision, and turned his attention toward the big power boat’s tender.
CHAPTER III
THE BOAT IN THE FACE OF THE MOON
A single look told Jack another story, for after all it was no human life in peril that had given rise to that girlish shriek.
Upon the dancing waves he saw a pretty hat, which had evidently been snatched by the wind from the head of the golden-haired maid, who was half standing up in the boat, with her hands outstretched toward her floating headgear.
The men had started to change their stroke, and try and turn the boat; but with the wind blowing so hard this was no easy matter. The chances seemed to be that possibly the hat might sink before they could get to it.
Jack never hesitated an instant. No sooner did he ascertain how things lay than he was off like a shot, headed straight for the drifting hat. It chanced that the wind and waves carried it toward him at the same time; so that almost before the two men in the boat had turned the head of the craft properly, Jack was reaching out an eager hand, and capturing the prize.
“Hooray!” came in a chorus from the boys ashore near the fire. Even Buster tried to wave his hands, forgetting that he had full need of them in the effort to remain afloat, with the result that he temporarily vanished from view under a wave.
Jack smiled to see the two girls in the boat clapping their hands as they bore down upon him. He noticed now, that while the one who had lost her hat was slender and a very pretty little witch, her companion was almost as heavy in her way as Buster himself, and with the rosiest cheeks possible.
“Oh! thank you,” cried the maiden whose headgear had been rescued from a watery grave. “It was nice of you to do that. And it was my pet hat, too. Whatever would I have done if it had sunk, with poor me so far away from our Chicago home. Is one of those dear little boats yours?”
“Yes, the one with the burgee floating at the bow,” returned Jack, as he kept treading water, after delivering up the gay hat. “We’re taking our vacation by making a trip from the Thousand Islands all through the Great Lakes. My name is Jack Stormways.”
“And mine is Rita Andrews. My father owns that big power boat there; and we live in Oak Park near Chicago. This is my cousin, Sallie Bliss. I’m sorry to say that we’re going to leave here early in the morning; or I’d ask you to come aboard and meet my father.”
Nick meanwhile was approaching, making desperate efforts to hurry along before the boat passed on. For Nick had discovered that the rosy-cheeked girl was just the match for him, and he wanted to be introduced the worst kind.
Unfortunately the cruel men took to rowing again, and though Nick swam after, puffing and blowing like a porpoise, he was left in the lurch. But he succeeded in waving his hand to the departing ones, and laughed joyously when he saw that Miss Sallie actually returned his salute.
So the boat with its fair occupants passed away. Jack wondered whither the millionaire, whose name he remembered having heard before, was bound; and if a kind fate would ever allow him to see that charming face of Rita Andrews again. Little did he dream of the startling conditions that would surround their next meeting.
“Hi! there, you fellows, come ashore and get some duds on!” called George, who had been an interested observer of this little play.
“Yes,” supplemented Josh, waving a big spoon as though that might be the emblem of his authority as “chief cook and bottle-washer,” “supper’s about ready, and my omelette eats best when taken right off the pan. Get a move on you, fellows.”
It was amusing to see the scramble Nick made for the shore. The jangle of a spoon on a kettle always stirred his fighting spirit; he felt the “call of the wild” as George said, and could hardly wait until the rest sat down.
So the two swimmers went ashore, and hastily dressed. Nick was forever talking about the lovely roses in the cheeks of Miss Sallie.
“You didn’t play fair, Jack,” he complained. “When you saw how anxious I was to get up, why didn’t you pretend to have a cramp, or something, to detain the boat. I didn’t even get introduced. She don’t know what my name is. It’s mean, that’s what I think.”
Jack knew that Buster would never be happy unless he had some cause for grumbling. It was usually all put on, though, for naturally the fat boy was a good-natured, easy-going fellow, ready to accommodate any one of his chums to the utmost.
While they ate the fine supper which Josh spread before them, George entertained the party with a droll account of the adventure two of their number had had with a bull. He had purposely kept silent up to now, and bound Josh to secrecy, so that he could spring the story while they sat around.
Loud was the laughter as George went on in his clever way of telling things. But Nick laughed with the rest. Viewed from the standpoint of safety things really looked humorous now; whereas at one time they had seemed terrifying indeed.
“Catch me wearing that blessed red sweater again when I go for milk or eggs,” he declared. “Once is enough for me. Oh! if I’d only had a camera along to snap Josh as he went climbing over that fence, with the bull so close behind. I’d get that picture out every time I felt blue, and laugh myself sick.”
Josh assumed an injured air, as he spoke up, saying:
“Now would you listen to that, fellows? Just as if I looked a quarter as funny as Nick did, trying to scramble up that tree, nearly scared to death, because he thought Johnny Bull wanted to help him rise in the world. Oh! my land! but he was a sight. When I went off to get help I wanted to laugh so bad I just fell over in the grass, where he couldn’t see me, and just had it out. Couldn’t help it.”
“That’s what kept you so long, was it?” demanded Nick, reproachfully. “All right, the very next time you get in a pickle, and yell out for help, I’m going to get a crick in my leg when I try to run, see if I don’t.”
“All the same I noticed that you could swim to beat the band when you tried to join Jack, before the sweet girlies got away,” put in George, maliciously.
“Nick was afraid the boat was going to upset, and he saw a chance to save that red-cheeked little dumpling from a watery grave,” Herb remarked, with a grin.
“Suppose something had happened, Jack couldn’t have rescued them both. But you can laugh all you want to, smarties, she waved her hand to me all the same, didn’t she, Jack?” appealed the fat boy, stubbornly.
“I saw her wave to somebody, so I suppose it was meant for you,” replied Jack.
“Birds of a feather flock together,” chanted Josh.
“That’ll do for you,” Nick declared sternly. “She was a fine and dandy little lady, and I hope some time in the future I’ll see Sallie Bliss again.”
“Bliss! Oh! what d’ye think of that, fellows?” roared George.
“Leave Buster alone, can’t you?” Jack said, in pretended indignation. “He’s all right, and honest as the day is long. None of your Crafty Clarence in his makeup, you know, fellows.”
Clarence Macklin was a boy who came from the same town as those around the camp fire. He was the son of a very rich man, who supplied him with almost unlimited spending money. Consequently Clarence was able to carry out any folly that chanced to crop up in his scheming mind.
Learning through trickery of the intention of the motor boat boys to cruise among the Thousand Islands, he had shipped his fast speed boat, called the Flash thither, and succeeded in giving them more or less annoyance. He was accompanied by his pet crony, a fellow called Bully Joe Brinker, who usually did the dirty work Clarence allowed himself to think up.
“Say, speaking of that fellow, wonder what’s become of him?” George remarked; for there was a standing rivalry between his boat and that of the other, both being built solely for speed, and not comfort or safety.
“Didn’t he hint something