"We can't tow dead wood and expect to get away—not in this tub," explained the boatman.
"I—I don't want to get away!" she exclaimed.
"You don't?" There was genuine astonishment in his voice. "Then why in Sam Hill did you start that engine?"
She felt there was no fitting reply, so said nothing.
Soon there was a new sound from the rear, or rather a jumble of sounds—a shout of warning, a crash, a splintering of wood.
"There goes one of Mr. Witherbee's skiffs," commented the boatman. "They ran it down."
The lady who sat on the floor made no comment. She had no compunctions concerning the skiff, but she was suddenly alarmed over her own plight.
How would she get back now?
"He's gaining some," observed the boatman after a short interval. "I told you I wasn't a speed-king."
Miss Chalmers's mind once more detached itself from her predicament. She rose to her knees and stared out over the stern.