The rain ceased, almost as suddenly as it had started and the fury of the squall, having blown itself out, subsided. The wind died away, and, though there was a long swell on, the storm was practically over. It grew a little lighter with the dispersing of the mist.
The boys sized up the newcomer. The boat was about fifty feet long, and had a small cabin. It was operated by a gasolene motor of eight cylinders. Beside it the Dartaway looked small.
“Are you the boys who sailed out of the cove this evening?” asked the steersman of the Three Bells.
“I guess we are,” Jerry replied. He had stopped his engine, as had the skipper of the other craft, which contained two men.
“Didn’t you hear some one hail you?”
“Yes,” said Jerry. “We thought it was some one wanting to race, and we weren’t in trim for a brush. We haven’t got our boat fixed up yet, so we decided to pay no attention to it. Was it you?”
“No, it was one of the coast fishermen,” replied the captain of the Three Bells.
“Did he want to race?” asked Ned, curious to understand why a fisherman should want to challenge them.
“Race? I guess not,” was the man’s reply. “Why he was calling you to come back because he saw the squall coming up. He sized you up for newcomers at the beach, and knew you probably didn’t know anything about the weather here. We have some pretty bad storms, and they come up in an instant and without warning. The fisherman was able to see it getting ready to break, and he didn’t want you to venture out. But it seems you went, anyhow.”