“Any time to lock up?” demanded Tom, half-laughingly. 16
“Yes—but hustle! I’ll get the motor started and be waiting.”
Hank Butts was leaning indolently against one of the porch posts.
“Look at old Joe sailing before a fair wind,” he laughed, admiringly.
“Turn to, Hank! Help lock the windows and the doors—full speed ahead!” directed Captain Tom, with vigor. “Joe Dawson never goes off at racing speed like that unless he has his orders and knows what he’s doing.”
“I thought you were the captain,” grinned Hank, as he sprang to obey.
“So I am,” Halstead shot at the other boy. “But, just as it happens, Joe has the sailing orders—and he can be trusted with ’em. Now—everything is tight and the keys in my pocket. For the dock, on the run!”
Chug-chug! Joe had surely been moving, for, by the time the other boys reached the dock, Dawson had the hatchway of the motor room open and the twin motors had begun to move. The young engineer, an oil-can in hand, was watching the revolutions of the two handsome machines.
“Stand by the stern-line to throw off, Hank,” called Captain Tom, as he raced out onto the dock and made a plunge for the bow hawser. With this in hand he sprang aboard. 17
“How soon, Joe?” called the young skipper, throwing the canvas cover from the wheel down onto the bridge deck.