"If they do," replied Spike, "they'll only get aboard this boat through a perfectly murderous fire of raspberry jam."
"R-Raspberry j-j-jam d-doesn't r-repel b-b-boarders," said Spook, hustling the dishes below, "h-h-half as m-m-much as s-s-stewed p-p-prunes." He stopped, with his head out of the cabin door.
"S-S-Say!" he exclaimed, pointing, "isn't th-that another b-boat?"
There was another boat, certainly,—a sail had appeared some distance behind the yacht we had first sighted.
"They're not chasing us," remarked Spike; "somebody's chasing them!"
"What makes you think anybody is chasing anybody?" I asked. "They may be just out for a sail. Anyone would think there was a war going on here in Broad Bay."
"Th-There's b-b-battle, m-murder, and s-s-sudden d-death g-g- going on for us,—at B-Bailey's Harbor. And l-l-look! B-By J-J-J- Jiminy Kuk-Kuk-Crickets! There's another b-boat!"
"Oh, they're all probably pleasure boats, like this one."
"D-D-Do you c-c-call this a p-p-pleasure b-boat? S-Seems to m-me the 'H-Hoppergrass' is b-becoming a b-b-burden, like the one in the B-Bible."
"Just the same," said Spike, looking back uneasily, "this last one has come from Rogers's Island, I should think. Do you suppose it is Snider and the other man? Did they have a boat?"