“If we go camping in the holidays!” shouted Frank, “I guess Cabin Island is off our list, at any rate.”
“It would be a mighty fine place to camp,” said Joe regretfully. “It’s too bad Mr. Jefferson is such a crank. A good-hearted chap would let us live in his old cabin during the holidays.”
“Well,” remarked Chet, “this particular chap isn’t at all good-hearted, so I suppose we’ll just have to hunt up another camping spot.”
The boys were silent. Cabin Island would have been an ideal place for their outing. It would be difficult to find another cabin as well constructed and so near Bayport.
Suddenly, Chet pointed ahead.
“Look at that ice-boat!” he exclaimed. “Must be a crazy man steering it.”
Away in the distance they could see a large craft, twisting and turning in an erratic fashion. It would speed in a straight course for a hundred yards or so, then it would commence to zigzag crazily, at times veering over until the sail was almost level with the ice.
“He’ll break his mast or his rudder,” opined Frank. “Then he won’t be so smart, when he finds himself stranded about three miles from town. A chap who will handle a boat like that doesn’t deserve to have one.”
However, the other craft seemed to be standing up under the senseless strain being imposed on it. It was a larger boat than that of the Hardy boys, and it was able to withstand mishandling that would have wrecked a smaller craft.
The boys did not alter their course, for they were some distance to leeward and under ordinary circumstances would not pass within shouting distance of the big boat. However, as they sped on, Frank saw that the other craft had ceased zigzagging and was now bearing toward them. Its huge sail was full and it was gathering speed.