Slowly the two boats drew apart and swung clear. Then it was seen that the ferryboat's injuries were merely superficial. The blow, fortunately, was only a glancing one. No damage had been done below the water line. The paddlebox was smashed to smithereens, and this was a serious enough mishap, for it left the ferryboat completely helpless, drifting with the tide. The whistle blew continuously, summoning assistance from the shore, and the schooner, seeing it could be of no assistance, proceeded down the stream.
"We're lucky it's no worse!" cried Tod, as he returned, after a tour of inspection, to where Paula was sitting. "We'll have to drift about a bit until they come and tow us into the Jersey City slip."
A deckhand who was passing heard the remark.
"Guess again!" he snickered. "Jersey nothing! It's New York we're going back to. See—they're after comin' out for us now."
With a jerk of his thumb he pointed to the Manhattan shore. A powerful tug had already left the New York slip and was puffing in their direction.
"Back to New York!" exclaimed Tod and Paula, in startled unison.
This outcome to their adventure they had certainly not foreseen. To be taken ignominiously back and made to walk right in the arms of their pursuers was something they hardly expected. Consternation was plainly written on the faces of both. Tod was not easily excited, but this contretemps was too much even for his self-composure. Addressing the deckhand, he cried excitedly:
"We can't go back to New York! It's out of the question! I'll go and see the captain."
The man grinned.
"I guess I'd leave the Cap'n alone, if I was yer," he said, with a dry chuckle. "He's thunderin' mad over the smash-up. There's no tellin' what he might do ter yer."