CHAPTER XXIV
“IT’S A RINGER!”
It was proved that the nephew of the wild Harry Biggin had a proper name of his own. His unfortunate and ignorant parents had never allowed a doctor to see the boy when he was small, or the discovery that Dr. Kent made as soon as he examined the patient would have resulted in a simple operation and a change for the better in the boy’s speech.
He had been properly named Albert Biggin. He was not at all a backward boy, save in speech. And he showed his gratitude to the Speedwells in every way possible.
The doctor kindly went with him to the hospital at Compton, and aided in the operation that gave Bert Biggin the proper use of his tongue. Afterward, when the wound was well, he returned to the Speedwell farm, and there went to work cheerfully to repay the boys and their parents for their kindness to him.
He was to make his home with them, and the sheriff put the part of the reward offered for the recovery of the “treasure box,” which rightfully belonged to “Dummy,” into the bank in his name.
The three fellows who were captured later were punished by the law for their work. Out of the adventure in the blizzard a number of good things sprang.
But this is somewhat ahead of our story. The morning after the great snowstorm was a busy time for Dan and Billy Speedwell. Although the storm ceased and the sun broke through the clouds, they were worried about the motor iceboat that the robbers had abandoned up the river. Before noon the brothers, with their new chum, started up the river road on the lookout for the lost boat.
“It’s all right to have the Fly-up-the-Creek over there at Island Number One. We know where she is,” said Billy. “But if any of the fellows got hold of the other——”
“Barrington Spink, for instance?” suggested Dan.
“Crickey, Dan! I believe he found those plans of yours. Jim Stetson declares that Barry and that mechanic of his are building a regular wonder of an iceboat. He’s going to call it the Streak o’ Light.”
“Well, we can’t help that,” returned his brother, gruffly. “If he beats us, he beats us! That’s all there is to it.”
“But it isn’t fair if he has based his construction on your invention.”
“Humph!” grunted Dan. “I won’t be the first inventor who has been beaten out of his rights; will I?”
They spied the mast of the motor iceboat after a long tramp. She was nearly a mile from the bank of the river.
They hired a pair of horses from the neighboring farmer, and got down on the ice and out to the stranded boat.
“Won’t be much more iceboating on the Colasha this winter if this snow remains,” Billy declared.
“Don’t you be too sure of that,” returned Dan. “If there comes a slight thaw, and then she freezes——Wow!”
“My goodness me!” gasped Billy, seeing the prospect at once. “Then she’ll be all ‘thank-you-ma’ams’ and the boats will bound like rubber balls. Say! if that happens there’s bound to be some fun.”
They dug the Follow Me out of the snowdrift, and dragged her ashore after taking down the mast and stowing the frozen sail. The motor and engine had not been hurt as far as the boys could see.
They dragged the iceboat back to John Bromley’s dock on a sledge, and by that time it was dark. One of the boys stayed with Bromley each night after that until the day of the races.
For the regatta, so long looked forward to, was held on the date appointed. On Christmas night there was a rise in the temperature and a gentle rain. In the morning around went the wind again to the northwest, and the mercury went down to almost the zero mark. The snow-covered river was a glare of icy crust.
The boats were soon out in full force, although the skating was not good. For the first time the boys learned just what it meant to maneuver an iceboat on a rough surface.
Dan and Billy, with the help of Bert Biggin, dug out the Fly-up-the-Creek on the shore of Island Number One, and took the girls to Karnac Lake the day before the regatta.
Mildred and Lettie had enjoyed the sport before; but although the breeze was light, the big iceboat got under great headway coming home, and when she leaped from the summit of a particularly big hummock of snow-ice, and did not touch a runner to the surface for forty feet, the girls thought they had come as near to flying as they ever wished to.
“And do you mean to say you believe you can get greater speed out of your new boat than this, Dannie?” panted Lettie Parker. “Why! I can’t believe it.”
“To-morrow will tell the story,” returned Dan, grimly.
“The boys say that Streak o’ Light Barry Spink has built is just a wonder,” said Mildred, anxiously.
“Well, of course,” returned Dan, seriously, “I can’t tell what Barry has built. But it’s got to be a good one to beat our Follow Me, now that we have overhauled her and adjusted her again—eh, Billy?”
“Believe me!” agreed his enthusiastic brother, “it’s some boat, girls. Wait till you see it.”
The Speedwell boys sailed their new invention down to the Boat Club Cove the morning of the regatta, using only her canvas. Barrington Spink and his foreign looking mechanic were running the new boat Spink had built all about the cove to show her paces, using, of course, only the motor. She did not go so very fast, but the owners of ordinary iceboats looked on the Streak o’ Light with envy.
“Say!” grunted Monroe Stevens; “we haven’t the ghost of a show with that thing. And Mr. Darringford’s got a power boat, too. What have you got under that canvas, Dan?”
“Never mind,” said the older Speedwell boy. “We’ll show our engine after the races—not before.”
But the brothers went over to Spink’s boat and examined it. Barry seemed very nervous and eyed the Speedwells askance while Dan was closely examining the mechanism that drove the Streak o’ Light.
“What do you think of it, Dan?” asked Mr. Darringford, who was standing near.
“I—don’t—know,” returned the boy, and backed away from the machine. Billy followed him, his face red and his hands clenched.
“It’s a ringer! It’s a ringer!” the younger boy declared, hotly. “He stole those plans——”
“He merely found them on the ice and picked them up,” put in Dan, quietly.
“And made use of them!” ejaculated Billy, almost choked for speech in his anger.
“Yes,” observed Dan, slowly. “He seems to have made some use of the idea.”
“And if he beats us, it will be because of our plans—your invention, Dan!”
“Hold on! don’t blow up!” warned Dan. “The race isn’t run yet.”
“And if it is——”
“He’s got to show he knows how to run his boat better than we run ours; hasn’t he?” Dan demanded. “Keep your shirt on, Billy.”
Thus admonished, the younger Speedwell kept silent. Barry Spink raced his White Albatross in the early races, and he actually won two of the short ones.
“That chap thinks he’s going to sweep the whole river,” growled Biff Hardy. “He’s sent up to Appleyard’s for a broom and is going to tie it to his masthead.”
“Oh, Dan! is he really going to beat everybody—win everything?” cried Mildred Kent.
“Wait,” advised Speedwell. “These are only play races. There’s only one real trial of speed to-day; and the Follow Me is going to be in that,” and he laughed.
But Billy didn’t feel like laughing at all. He didn’t have much share of Dan’s courage.