“I’m almost hopeful that everything is in shape,” declared Dawson at last.
“Good morning, boys!” came a pleasant hail from the pier. “I see everything is in fine trim.”
“It looks that way, Mr. Dunstan,” answered Tom, stepping up above and, by way of salute, bringing his hand to the visor of the Club’s uniform cap that he had donned this morning. “But motors are sometimes cranky. We don’t dare begin to brag just yet.”
“This morning’s mail brought me a letter from Mr. Prescott,” went on the owner, holding up an envelope. “He has written me seven pages about you. It seems that you are great pets of my friend’s. He tells me that I can place every confidence in you.”
“Why, that’s mighty nice of Mr. Prescott,” replied Tom quietly. He was greatly pleased, nevertheless, for he could now see that Mr. Dunstan’s opinion of them had gone up several notches.
“Well, well,” continued the owner, as he glanced smilingly down into the engine room; “are you going to cast off now and take me over to Nantucket? It’s four days since I’ve seen my home and that lucky little rascal, Ted.”
Tom didn’t know or inquire who Ted was or why that “rascal” was so very fortunate. Instead he replied:
“We were thinking of a little trial trip first, sir, just to see how the craft will behave under way.”
“Good enough,” nodded the owner. “But I’m aboard, so why can’t I go with you?”
“Of course you can, sir.”