CHAPTER XVI
RACING BACK TO HIS FATHER
In Frank’s mind there was no idea of theft. Just as he asked Lanky Wallace to do, he now did.
When these two men had calmly and slowly sauntered away from the trees, Frank stole silently to the boat and climbed aboard.
Here to his hand was a five-gallon can of gasoline waiting for proper use. And he knew the best use to which it could be put! For a moment he hesitated. Then, digging deep into one pocket he pulled out a pencil and a scrap of paper, writing thereon the name and address of a gasoline man in Columbia and saying that he had taken a five-gallon can of gasoline, to be charged to F. A. He was not going to give his own name to these unknown ones.
In what might have been another minute he was on the wharf with the can and had made his way stumblingly through the little grove of trees, over the gnarled knees and rough spots of the ground, breaking out again on the wharf at the point where the planks had been removed or had rotted away.
Just then came a shrill whistle! Through the silent night-atmosphere it had a ghostly sound, but he knew what it meant—Lanky Wallace had found a store of gas!
Frank knew also that both of them, chums, were making their separate ways back to the boat, each with the needed fuel.
There was on Frank Allen’s face a smile as he stooped once again and grabbed up the can which he had filched from the thieves who had broken into the Parsons’ house.
Not resting a single time, he made his way back to the Rocket, moving swiftly, surely, as he recalled every step of the way along the wharf.