"Drop the oars any time you want to, Nicolas," Reade urged. "There won't be much more rowing to do, anyway."
Presently Tom himself rested on his oars, as the boat, moving under its own headway, approached the motor boat.
"Going to board her on the quarter?" the superintendent asked.
"No; by the bow," Tom answered. "Let go the tiller ropes. I'll pull alongside."
As they started to pass the boat a sound reached them that made Reade grow wild with anger. Snore after snore, from five busy sleepers!
Tom pulled softly up to the bow.
"There's the anchor cable!" snorted Tom, Pointing to a rope that ran from the bow of the "Morton" down into the water. "Did you ever see more wicked neglect of important duty? And not even a lantern out to mark her berth! Get aboard, Mr. Renshaw, and go aft to start the engine. Nicolas, you take this boat astern and make fast. Don't wake the sleepers—-poor, tired shirkers!"
Tom, in utter disgust, leaped aboard the boat at the bow. There, behind the wheel, Evarts lay on the floor of the boat, his rolled-up coat serving as a pillow.
Almost noiselessly Tom hauled up the light anchor. Then he stood by the wheel.
"All ready at the engine, Mr. Reade!" called the superintendent, softly.