"I'll take a chance on that," said Alec, "if you are willing to let her go."
Alec's confidence in Elsa was more than justified. He called her on the telephone and stated the situation. She did not waste a moment in unnecessary talk, but hung up the receiver the moment she understood that Alec wanted her to help him, picked up a sweater and a broad-brimmed hat, and hurried to the oyster pier in her little car. Within a few minutes of the time Alec had called her, the two were afloat.
The little craft that Alec had rented was an excellent boat. Built rather for pleasure than for work, it was very comfortably fitted out. Furthermore, it was the fastest little boat in the harbor. Its lines were excellent, and it slipped through the water as quietly and gracefully as a swan. Being equipped both with sail and engine, the owner was independent of wind and weather, and could go where he liked, when he liked. Unlike most of the boats in the harbor, this craft was painted a dull, leaden gray, that almost matched the color of the water. Alec was glad, for there would be none of the usual glare from the summer sun shining on white woodwork. The glare on the Bertha B often made his eyes ache. He was glad that he would not be bothered in that way on the little boat, for he would need to have his eyesight at its very best.
With such an efficient helper aboard, Alec determined not to lose a moment. He started the motor, and soon the little boat was shooting down the river at a fast clip.
"It's queer this boat has no name," said Alec.
"Oh! It has a name all right, but the name was painted over when the owner put this gray paint on. This is the Osprey."
"We couldn't have named her better," said Alec, "for we are fish-hawks ourselves, to-day. That is, we are shell-fish hawks."
Elsa had often been aboard the boat before, but again she examined the craft carefully, for she had long wanted her father to get a similar boat.