“About six o’clock. He rowed out south over the bay, and I haven’t seen him since.”
“Well, I suppose it’s the owner’s business if he wants to borrow his own boat and go for a row on the bay,” replied Tom.
“Breakfast!” hailed Steward Jed. The chums disappeared below decks forward, and for the next half hour gave most of their thoughts to the enjoyment of the morning meal. Then the young engineer and captain returned to the deck.
“Mr. Delavan said he wasn’t likely to use this craft to-day, and I’ll be as well pleased if he doesn’t,” said Halstead. An August morning mist was just more than barely visible as it formed out on the ocean, rolling slowly inward. The remainder of the forenoon was likely to be as foggy as on the day before.
“The rest will do the engine good,” said Dawson meditatively. “These engines that are made for racing speeds are all right at the trick if the speed isn’t pushed too often. We did quite some speeding yesterday, so I’m glad if the engine does get a rest.”
“That’s right,” nodded Tom. “No matter if you take the finest care possible of a gasoline motor, if the engine is pushed too hard and some little thing goes wrong, the average owner is likely to think he has an incompetent engineer.”
“That wasn’t the way, though, with Mr. Prescott,” argued Joe. “Nor with Mr. Dunstan, either. They both trusted everything about the boats to us. They’d sooner blame the boat or engine-builders than blame us.”
“From all indications,” pursued Captain Tom, “Mr. Delavan is likely to prove the most indulgent owner of all. Say, I wonder what Mr. Delavan would look like, worried?”