“Police nothing!” snapped Jerry Hopkins. “We’ll attend to this case ourselves!”
“That’s the way to talk!” exclaimed Mr. Nestor. “And when we get hold of that Noddy Nixon we’ll make him walk Spanish!”
“But it’s dark,” objected Bob. “We can’t see him, and besides, we have no other boat!”
“Come on!” cried Jerry shortly, as he raced toward the street. “Never mind the dark—we can get a lantern.”
“But a boat?” asked Ned.
“Down at the club house!” said Jerry, tersely. “We’ll borrow one of the craft—I guess they won’t mind. We’ve got to get our boat!”
“I’m on!” yelled Ned, as he raced beside his chum and Andy Rush, Bob, being heavier, brought up the rear with the two men, who were not used to running. However, all made fair time.
Jerry led the way toward the river. The motor boys had their own private boathouse, where their craft, the Dartaway, was kept. This was not their original motor boat of that name, for their first boat had met an untimely fate in a wreck, as my old readers know. But the lads had kept the name, and had bestowed it on a much larger and finer boat which they now owned.
“What do you suppose he took our boat for?” asked Ned of Andy, as they raced on.