“You’ve got hold of the wrong party, my friend,” answered the young skipper, as quietly as ever. “The fellow you want is my chum, Joe Dawson, the ‘Rocket’s’ engineer.”
Rexford looked Tom Halstead over as keenly as was possible in the darkness.
“Do you mean, captain,” he demanded, finally, “that we’ll have to let your friend in on this?”
“Of course,” Tom nodded, “if there’s really anything to be done along the lines you’re describing.”
“What kind of a fellow is this Joe Dawson?”
“Well,” replied Tom, reflectively, “Joe’s hot tempered once in a while. If you proposed anything to him that he considered crooked, he’d most likely hit you over the head with a wrench.”
“So you call my offer a crooked one, do you?” insisted Rexford, a curious note in his voice.
“You’re proposing to buy us out—to pay us to sell out our employer, aren’t you?” asked Halstead, directly.
“Why, I am trying to show you how you can make a very handsome sum of money by being accommodating,” said the young man, slowly.
“You’re asking us to sell out our employer and our own sense of honor, aren’t you?” persisted the young motor boat captain.