“We can’t do much, though, until this confounded fog lifts,” groaned young Halstead.
Just as he was reaching to sound the whistle once more Captain Tom’s hand was arrested by a sound that made Joe and Jed also start slightly.
Then out of the fog, three hundred feet away, going at fifteen miles an hour, or more, glided swiftly the same long, narrow racing craft they had encountered the day before.
That strange craft crossed the “Rocket’s” bow, at least a hundred and fifty feet away.
“Racer ahoy!” bawled the youthful skipper, in his loudest voice.
But the swift craft vanished into the fog on the other side.
Was it fancy, or were all three of the young motor boat boys dreaming when they believed that back from that swift-moving racer came a sound of mocking laughter?
“Get into the engine room, Joe,” shouted Captain Tom. “Jed, up forward, on lookout!”
With that the young skipper swung around his speed control. The “Rocket,” obeying the impulse, leaped forward, then gradually settled down into a steady gait, while the young skipper strenuously threw his steering wheel over.