“Look, Jack,” Bob suddenly cried, as he caught his brother by the arm.
“There’s the Twilight towing one of Ben’s rafts.”
“Sure’s your born,” Jack agreed. “It’s going to be a race to see who’ll get across first.”
“It’ll be a race all right,” Bob said quietly. “A race of snails at about two miles an hour.”
“That’s about the size of it,” Jack laughed. “But the Comet can beat the Twilight any day so I don’t think we need to worry.”
“I’m not so sure about that last part of what you said,” Bob replied soberly. “It’s true that the Comet is the faster boat in an even race, but unless I’m much mistaken, the Twilight is hitched on to a smaller raft than the one we’re towing.”
“Jimminy crickets, you’re right. I never thought about that,” and Jack too looked sober. “Let’s go and ask Cap’n Seth what he thinks about it.”
They found the captain in the pilot-house steering.
“I dunno,” he replied in answer to their question. “Course the Comet’s the faster boat, but if the Twilight’s hitched on to a smaller raft she might beat us. Reckon we’ll jest hav’ ter wait an’ see. Give her all she’ll stand, Reds,” he shouted through the speaking tube.
The wind, which was light, was with them this time, and they were making good progress, but so was the Twilight. The two boats were now about two miles apart and it was plain, from the dense clouds of black smoke, that they were issuing from the Twilight’s stack, that her captain also was pushing her to the limit.