The two boys, sensible, realizing a division of forces was now the best, grabbed Frank and Lanky by the hands, wished them well and promised to see about Cunningham.
Before the Rocket left the wharf, they brought back a bottle of hot coffee and warm rolls, which Frank and Lanky barely gave thanks for as they grabbed, in their hunger, for the viands.
Just as the sun broke through the far horizon and shot its first shafts of light into the world, the Rocket got away from the landing at Columbia and started back to the Jed Marmette farm.
Though as tired as two boys can ever be, a morning breeze which blew across the Harrapin was an invigorating one, their worries were almost over—the principal ones were over except for Frank’s father, and the boys fell to chatting gaily while they raced the Rocket upstream as rapidly as the engine would take it.
“Frank,” said Lanky, as they had gained their full speed and stood looking ahead of them along the river, “the Rocket is a better boat than the Speedaway.”
“Right now, you mean?” laughed Frank.
“No, I mean she always was. She gained on the Speedaway to-night in straight running.”
“Not to-night.” Frank felt in a teasing humor.
“Well, last night, then. But, believe me, Frank, you surely did do some clever headwork! By jove, that was good the way you made those bends and beat him to the punch.”
Full daylight was upon them as they made the landing at the Marmette place.