“Can you see who’s in it?” asked Jerry of Ned.
“No. Seems to be a fellow and a girl. He has a cap on, and I can’t see his face. Her hair blows about her so I can’t make out who she is.”
The occupant of the other boat evidently had accepted the race, and was doing his best to win. He was steering a straight course, and the two craft were not more than a hundred yards apart.
They kept it up for a couple of miles, the engines exploding away like a battery of Gatling guns in full action. Gradually the Dartaway began to draw ahead. Inch by inch she left her opponent behind, until he was hopelessly out of the race.
“Better slow down now,” cautioned Jerry. “We’re close to the lighthouse.”
Ned shut off some power, and, a few minutes later, steered the boat up to the small dock at the base of the lighthouse.
“Glad to see you!” called a voice, and the keeper came down the stone steps to welcome them. “Haven’t been out in any more storms, have you?”
“Not lately,” replied Jerry. “How are you?”
“Oh, things are always the same here. Come in and have a bite to eat. My niece is away but I’m pretty good at setting the table.”
Ned’s face showed the disappointment he felt.