Once the motor boat got started, of course it speedily came up with the runaway. Jack had given the wheel into the charge of Herb, who was fully competent to run things. This allowed the other an opportunity to do anything that offered, looking to the rescue of poor frightened Nick.
“Get me out of this, won’t you, Jack? I don’t like it one little bit,” pleaded the fat boy; and then, as some new freak on the part of the shark caused the dinky to lunge sideways in a fearful manner, he shouted in new alarm: “Quit it, you ugly beast! Who wants to nab you now? I pass, I tell you! Let go, and get out of this! Wow! look at him splash the water, Jack, would you?”
“He wanted to take a look at you, that’s all,” Jack called out. “Don’t you think you’d better cut loose, and let your hook go, Nick?”
“I ain’t got any knife; it went overboard the first thing. Besides,” added the occupant of the dinky, who was now once more crouching in the stern, “if I go up there, the water just pours in. I’m sitting in it right now. Jack, can’t you think of some way to make him leave me alone?”
“Perhaps I might,” came the reply, as the skipper of the Tramp dodged back into the hunting cabin of his boat.
He almost immediately reappeared again, holding a rope in his hands. This he made fast to a cleat at the bow; and then, turning to Herb, asked him to bring the motor boat as close to the fleeing dinky as possible.
Leaning down, Jack managed to get a peculiar sort of hitch around the taut line; and a quick jerk seemed to secure his own rope, so that it would not slip. His next action was to take a keen knife, and lay its edge upon the line, close to the spot where it was fastened to the wobbling dinky.
Of course it instantly parted.
“Oh! that’s too bad! Now I’ve lost my tackle!” cried Nick; although he looked vastly relieved at finding that he was no longer fast to the queer sea horse.