“Oh, come on and take it!” gasped Wyn.
“Don’t want it now,” snapped Bess, who took offense rather easily at times. “You can keep the old thing.”
Wyn sighed with relief. Then she whirled quickly and ran down to the beach, with Frank right at her heels. They were the only two girls who launched their canoes. Wyn had brought the glass with her.
“Now I know Bess won’t see him,” she exclaimed, almost in a whisper.
“What’s that?” demanded Frankie, who overheard. “What do you mean, Wyn?”
“I believe that is Mr. Lavine out there,” said the captain of the Go-Aheads. “Oh, Frank! paddle hard!”
And it was Mr. Lavine. He had hired this little gasoline boat, with its owner to run it, at Denton, and had paid the owner an extra five-dollar bill to force the boat to its very highest speed (and that wasn’t much) all the way up the Wintinooski. Mr. Lavine was in a hurry; he was in too much of a hurry, as it proved.
Somewhere off Meade’s Forge he began to smell the gasoline all too strongly. There was a leak somewhere; but the boat kept on.
Finally even the reckless driver grew frightened and shut off the spark.
“There’s a leak, boss,” he drawled. “Sure as aigs is aigs!”