“He’ll have a good excuse, anyhow. I’ll bet my head on that,” said Harry Ware, with emphasis.
They were swinging between the North Twin and the South Twin Island as the lad spoke. As they shot around a promontory on the latter’s easterly end, Percy Simmons, who had relieved Harry at the wheel, checked their talk by an abrupt shout.
“Motor craft ahead!” he cried.
“Where?” demanded Ralph.
“Right over our bow. By hickory,” the boy’s voice became surcharged with sudden excitement, “it’s—it’s the River Swallow!”
“By all that’s wonderful, so it is!” and Ralph echoed the other’s shout.
“Hail her!” suggested Harry, “it won’t be long now before we squeeze some sort of an explanation out of that wiggly Malvin.”
The tender was urged to top speed. The River Swallow was bound down the river, apparently headed for Dexter Island. She was making good speed, but, aided by the current between the two islands, the tender bade fair to intercept her. Harry Ware opened a locker and snatched out a flag. He waved it energetically above his head.
Before long the River Swallow’s way was checked. She swerved from her course and headed for the little tender. As she came alongside, Malvin’s face appeared on the bridge. His countenance beamed with what appeared to be genuine relief as he met the boys’ eyes unflinchingly.
“Thank heaven you’re safe, young gentlemen!” he cried. “I feared something had happened to you.”