Frank’s back was turned toward the freight house door, so he did not see the hateful eyes which peered out at him. The owner of those eyes drew back in a moment, muttering:
“Yes, it is Merriwell—curse him! I dodged him just in time. He would have seen me if I hadn’t hidden amid those boxes. He must not see me now.”
The speaker was Parker Flynn, who claimed to be the rightful owner of the yacht, White Wings, and who had made a desperate attempt to capture her by force in Rockland harbor ten days before this story opens.
Flynn wore a bicycle suit, and he quickly stole out of the freight house by another door, found a wheel outside, mounted it and rode away swiftly.
In the meantime Frank was chatting with his new friends, fascinating them by his wit and easy manners. They had heard much of him, and not one of them was disappointed in his appearance.
“Mr. Merriwell,” said Dustan, “I took care to bring along a wheel for you when I heard you were coming into the harbor. Of course, I took a chance about fitting you, but I have the best wheel to be found in the city, and I think it can be adjusted to suit you, if it is not right.”
“But I have my yachting suit on.”
“Never mind. I have trouser guards.”
“Still I do not fancy riding this way. If I am to be escorted into the city by the Belfast Wheelmen, I will wear a riding suit. I have one on board, and can get into it in fifteen minutes. Of course, I do not wish to keep any of you waiting if you——”
“That’s all right!” cried several.